


Fear and Loathing in Roanapur

by chapa3



Category: Black Lagoon, 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3630030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapa3/pseuds/chapa3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yusuke here. Unemployed and without a college diploma, I hear about this place in Thailand where I can make some quick money and get out real fast. Roping Kurama into this little deal of mine wasn't easy, or pretty, but hey, you do what you got to do. Nothing wrong with blackmailing fox boy into cooking some product for a homicidal Chinese gangster. Nothing at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coked Out Kitsune

**AN:**  Yep, I done it now. A crossover of Yu Yu Hakusho and Black Lagoon. Did I enjoy writing this? Indeed I did. Was there alcohol involved? You goddamn right there was. Now, I will not ever include this story as part of either my current Black Lagoon series or my series of Yu Yu Hakusho stories. This is purely standalone. Well, enjoy.

* * *

My piss smells bad, gotta lay off all that soda. Well, the grass in Southeastern Thailand could always use more water, heh. I sprinkle off and zip up my jean fly, standing in some giant meadow hill in the middle of nowhere. Literally, the middle of freaking nowhere. Like, we would be lucky to find anything sentient that's bigger than a dove here. My sky blue boat shoes crush an ant under my feet.

I tug on the cuffs of my white casual dress shirt with the black flame design, and I wipe some sweat off my forehead. Place is really humid, this Southeast Thailand. I turn around and face my meal ticket. Our meal ticket, and boy are we going to be eating well.

I hear the door of our newly purchased discount RV come open, and lo and behold, Shuichi Minamino, dressed in a green gas mask, black two dollar sandals, black ten dollar basketball shorts, and nothing else. He removes the gas mask and says "It is done. I am finished, finally." Kurama sounds like he is really pissed off.

I approach him and say "Yeah? Good. How many kilos we got?" He blankly says "Four. Four kilograms. I cannot believe I allowed you to blackmail me into this nonsense." Hey?! I yell "C'mon man! I needed the money! I am unemployed and you're the guy with the biochem/biotech/bioshit Masters diploma." He yells "That is not my problem! I…last time Yusuke. If you threaten to expose my demon nature to my mother again…I'm afraid I cannot guarantee that I will react reasonably."

"Oh for fuck sakes, fox boy. I wasn't serious about that, I wouldn't go that far!" He glares at me likes he wants to kill me and says "You…what?!" I slouch my shoulders and say "Okay, maybe I was a bit pushy, sorry. But look, it's all good man! We are going to split this 50/50, so relax." Kurama heaves a really pissed off sigh and says "I committed much evil in my time, but never have I synthesized narcotics. This? This, all this? I truly feel disgusted with myself. The money does not concern me." "Alright, so I'll keep all the cash for myself, no skin off my ass," I say. Fox boy wants to be that way, I'll be that way right back.

He gives me a nasty look and says "I am not letting the past few hours, plus the time spent researching a method to concoct crystal methamphetamine WITHOUT becoming tracked by a federal agency, plus the airfare, PLUS the lies I had to tell my family and my girlfriend Zinaida, I will not let that go to waste. I may just donate my portion of the proceeds to a charity, but I will not let my suffering go to waste. And honestly, I thought better of you, Yusuke. Narcotics…"

I sigh and say "Please, relax fox boy. We are in the middle of nowhere, no one is tracking you, the NTA ain't going to arrest us for tax evasion. This is easy money, really. We spent, what, three thousand bucks on all this, including the chemicals and the lab equipment? My money, by the way. With four kilos and some of my Urameshi charm, we are looking at 40 grand each, at least." Kurama throws his gas mask into the grass and sighs. He then says "What's done is done. Do you want to sample? As I have absolutely zero interest in amphetamines, I will not even dare to touch my…creation…without gloves."

I shake my head and say "Nah, last thing you need is me on speed, heh. Can I go check it out, though?" Kurama grimaces, fidgets, and says "Sure, stare on it all you want. I named it even. 'Urameshi's Folly'." Cute. He lifts his gas mask up and puts it back on, and then pulls my gas mask off a hook attached to the RV door. He tosses it to me and suddenly I feel like I'm in an Alien vs. Predator movie.

I walk up the steps to our mobile meth lab…okay I kinda had to hold back laughing on that line. Already stuffed into a shell of bubble wrap, four kilos of clear white crystal meth. Made in Japan. Kinda. "Satisfied?!" Kurama snarls. I nod and say "Yeah, satisfied. Now relax, you sound like you just ttried the stuff yourself. Maybe some of the fumes got into your nose." He growls under the mask and asks "What should we do with this vehicle? I have no intention of taking it with me to that city. The one you described as 'Roanapur.'"

I shrug my shoulders and say "I don't know. Burn it I guess? Maybe drive within a mile of the city, and then burn it. Sounds good?" He sighs under the mask and says "Nothing in this can be good, but very well." Fox boy sits his bare chested self on the passenger seat while I take the driver's seat. I sit down and suddenly think of a really good question.

"Should we put those chemical tubes and shit away or something? It's going to be bumpy driving to Roanapur." He sighs and says "I deactivated the hot plate and all other heat sources, but very well. Please, do not press the gas pedal while I am putting away glassware. I rather avoid being cut by glass stained in highly toxic chemicals."

As I hear Kurama pack away the meth gear, I pat my hands on the wheel. Could use some music…there we go. The radio. I turn it on…damn it's loud!

"Yusuke!" Kurama yells, louder than some commercial in Thai. I turn around and find fox boy gripping a dick shaped chemistry tube between his legs. Oh if only I had a camera, this is great. I wave and yell "My bad" and then turn the volume down to levels cooler and hipper with normal human beings and human/demon hybrids.

I watch fox boy stuff our golden egg into a cheap pink backpack we got at some supermarket. He zips the backpack up and returns to his seat. I turn the engine on and say "Your shirt and real pants are still hanging on the door." He sighs under the gas mask and says "Leave them be. I am doing my best to not return to Tokyo smelling like a methamphetamine lab."

Radio switches to a…Russian song? What the fuck?  _"Gruppa Leningrad blayt! Budem Vesilitsya, urodi!"_  I hear Kurama chuckling a bit under the mask, me driving over the hill and onto a dirt road. Oh yeah I remember, fox boy speaks some Russian, forgot. He asks "Who are we selling this…item…to?"  _"A vsoh pizdets para igrat! Hvatit vam ohuievaht! Budem vesilitsya, y budem tansivaht!"_  "This Hong Kongese guy I found on the grapevine. Songxie Tong or something like that."  _"Tansuih!"_  Fox boy says "I see. I look forward to exchanging curtsies with a homicidally-inclined psychotic Chinese criminal. Certainly how I expected this day to begin one week ago."  _"Tansuih!"_  I say "It's just an easy, no rough stuff kind of trade. Cash for crystal. Like a pawn shop."

The ska rock song ends and the DJ yells  _"Adin Shnur, dvah Shnur, yecli protihv, sosih moi hui! Gruppa Leningrad! Zvezda Rok N Rollah!"_  Sounds like the same band.

I hit a bump and there goes Kurama's shirt and brown pants. He mutters "Damn you."  _"Muziku ya polubilh! A gdeh zhe vih, roditelih? Kudah zhe smotrit shkolah? Tak yah stahl zvezdoyu, a rok n rollah!"_  A freaking tiger suddenly runs across the road. I damn near tipped the RV over, swerving around Byakko's cousin. Going down the hill, and shit I just lost control!  _"Ahuiyenah! Ahuiyenah!"_ RV speeds down the hill like a raging four wheeled lab of death and crank, Kurama is looking like his lives are flashing before his eyes. I smash the breaks like I'm getting paid to and I just barely avoid taking us over a cliff and into the bluish green water. Okay, that was not fun.

" _Zihpa-trihpar pistohlet, mih igrayem semih leht!"_  Kurama blurts out "This nightmare is certainly living up as I expected it to."

We drive down the road, going under this gate with this weird noose over it. Some spooky Wild West shit over there. Radio switches to the DJ.  _"Shnur lubohv! Shnur zhizihn! Dolfin pidehr! A vih? Urodamii tochnoh! Gruppa Leningrad! Kogda Net Deneg!"_

Kurama laughs under his mask and says "I believe the DJ just selected your song. It concerns a certain delinquent NEET complaining about being penniless." "Yeah, yeah, very funny," I say, under my mask. Kurama says "Also, I thought we were to burn this laboratory outside the city." "Whoops, too late. Eh, rather not walk the distance," I say, bullshitting a bit in that last line. Kurama catches it. He all scolding-like says "Yusuke…Yusuke."

" _Potamushto netu deneg, ni rubliah, ni rubliah. Potamushto net moshina, y kvortiri net…"_

A red Pontiac GTO driven by some blonde four-eyed white guy in a Hawaiian shirt zips by our house of fun, and I think I saw a mauve-haired Chinese woman throw a cigarette out of a rear window. It flies in the air, falls through my rolled down driver seat window, and into my crotch. I immediately grab the cigarette butt, she damn near got my crotch burnt. Kurama chuckles to himself as I toss the cigarette out the window. Bitch.

" _Kogda net deneg! Ah net lubvih! Takayah suka, tvoi etah '_ _C'est la vie'!"_

I cut into the city of Roanapur, address found only through the grapevine. And damn, what I grapevine I had to tightrope across. That was as close to real Yakuza toughs as I ever want to be without taking scalps. Anyway, I pass a giant bar called 'Yellow Flag', pass a few wharfs, and enter an industrial port. I take a left at a light and enter what I think is Dock 27.

I see a beat up old ass bluish green Chevy Tahoe and a Cantonese man in a black flak jacket, blue jeans, and grey sneakers, chasing a seagull around with a sledgehammer. Next to him, this tall, bald black guy in a blue French national team Zinadine Zidane jersey, jeans, and dark grey boat shoes tries to restrain the Chinese guy before he could do some damage. The seagull 'caws' and flies away.

I park the RV and exit through the door, taking my gas mask off. I take a whiff of my shirt, and yep, I now smell like a meth lab. I put my right hand by my right hip and pull my jeans up just a bit, make them think I got a piece behind my waistband. I see Kurama start to exit the RV with the pink backpack and I say "Wait, you stay there."

I turn to the two, and yell "You Songxie?!" Songxie tosses the sledgehammer onto the concrete ground and says "May-be. You Yusuke?! The Japanese?!" Okay, it's going to be hard to not laugh at his Cantonese accent and fake macho talk. I say "May-be. You got the money?" Songxie nudges the tall black guy, who then reaches into the Chevy Tahoe's rolled down rear window and pulls out a black duffle bag. The black guy tosses the duffle bag at Songxie's feet and says "Here, satisfied?" Guy got a thick French accent.

I see Kurama trying to get out of the RV again, and I wave him to stay inside. I then say "Alright Songxie boy, I ain't twelve. Show me the money." Songxie lifts the duffle bag up and unzips the bag. He then tilts it and damn, that's a sexy sight. Stacks of 20s and 50s, American. Alright, I like, I like. Songxie says "Your turn, sei zai bao." What did he just call me?! Whatever, I'm assuming it was something cute like 'wiseguy' or the like. Yeah, like I'm in a Takeshi Kitano film. I dig that.

I snap my left fingers and wave Kurama in. He climbs out with the bubble wrap bundle of crystal joy and his bare naked chest for all to see. Songxie and the black French guy start laughing hysterically. Songxie taps the French guy's right shoulder and says "Laurent, these two suck each other cock, yes?" What, the fuck did you just say?! Laurent nods and yells "Oui, oui! Sans l'ombre d'un doute!"

"Take the cursed parcel!" Kurama yells, gas mask strap hanging on his neck, looking pretty angry. He points the crystal at Songxie, I reach in and gently pull it out of his hands. I say "Enough jokes, let's talk shop. 4 kilos clean, for 100 gees American. Whaddya say?" Songxie looks taken aback and says "100 gees? Japanese got quality ice. Whaddya say my friend Laurent takes taste. It could be bath salts." Trust me, Kurama ain't synthesizing bath salts. I unwrap the bubble wrap, break off a nibble of crystal with my fingers, and toss it into the air. Songxie freaks out and chases the piece down like he's working on an All-star vote. He catches it, puffs his cheeks at us, and then hands it Laurent. Laurent puts the crystal in his right hand, crushes it like Oddjob crushed a golf ball, and shoves the powdery crap down his nose.

I hold my breath, hoping Shuichi didn't just poison somebody with bad meth. Laurent takes a step back, smiles, and then nods, saying "Putain…this is good. Not like Edgar used to make, but good. Real good. Clean." Songxie frowns and nods, saying "Good stuff, Laurent likes." Oh yeah! I clap my hands together and say "So, 100 grand for the 4 kilos. We got a deal?" Songxie smirks and says "I got a better deal. You, red haired gay boy!" I think I just saw a vein pop in Kurama's forehead. He angrily smirks and says "Yes?" Songxie says "We need a new cook, our old one got too old, you know. I pay good, even get you two room so you could fuck all day, haha!" Well, if Kurama kills these two pricks, at least we get to keep the money.

Kurama holds back killing these two assholes with a fucking rose and says "This, was an aberration. A singular instance. Find some other individual to synthesize for you, the process is not complicated." He's really struggling to keep his anger inside. Songxie, on the other hand, smirks and walks toward our RV. I pretend to put my right hand on my imaginary pistol while Kurama puts his right hand into his red hair. Rose beats gun, I'm hoping. Songxie, the prick, he just climbs on top of the RV's hood, unzips his jean fly…and whips out his uncircumcised hairy cock, using our windshield as a porta john. I mutter "Not on the RV, dickhead…"

"There, that what I think of your 'aberration'. Now go work for us, or we got problem," he has the nerve and the balls to say. Keeps that up, he's losing one of the two.

Kurama simply turns to him, pulls a rose out of his hair, and says "If you continue with that line of speaking, I'm afraid I will resort to violent and drastic measures." Songxie laughs and says "What, you gone flower me to death, sei zai bao?!" Kurama sighs and says "Little do you know, I am a demon. A Kitsune if you will. And we have a tendency to show our teeth when threatened. In fact, I have peppered your bodies with demonic seeds capable of sucking your blood clean through your arteries. The process is quite painful, I must confess."

Laurent gives a confused look and says "What you talking about, crazy man?" Kurama cracks a smirk of his own and says "I have seeds in my repertoire capable of sucking your soul clean out of your body. You two will not be judged in the afterlife, for you two will simply cease to be." Oh boy, Songxie looks a bit pale. He climbs off our RV and says "You man, you crazy. Like schizophrenic crazy. We don't hire crazies. Here, Laurent, give the duffle bag. My offer, 80 grand for 4 kilos." I smirk and push the envelope, saying "100 grand, take it or leave it." Songxie says "Fine, 100 grand. Crazy people." He reaches into the duffle bag and pulls out four stacks of 50s, tossing them back into the car. He throws the duffle bag at us, myself catching it. Kurama tosses the meth at Laurent, who catches it. Fox boy sigh and says "Very well, it's over." I say "Wait, let me count the cash." I funnel through the duffle bag…40 grand…66 grand…yep 100 grand. Sweet!

YEAH!

I say "Pleasure doing business with you two. Try not to shove all that meth up your ass." Songxie shakes his head in disgust and mutters something in Cantonese. He takes the wheel while Laurent takes the shotgun seat.

The two drive off, and we are now in the money. 100 grand.

Holy shit!

I turn to Kurama and run over to hug the guy. I bear hug the fox and yell "You the man Kurama! 50 grand! I just got myself 50 fucking grand! That's like a yearly salary!" Kurama pushes off and asks "Are we done? Can we finally return to Tokyo? And preferably, can we stop by a clothing store?"

"Yea and yea. Just want to celebrate first. I saw a taco stand nearby, and that bar over there looks like a good place to get a drink. The one called 'Yellow Flag'." Kurama sighs and says "Fine, very well." He walks into the RV, this time without the gas mask on. I take it as my cue that it's safe to not wear one too. I toss my gas mask onto the concrete floor and follow Kurama up the RV steps. Turning the ignition on, I immediately switch on the windshield wipers.

I drive up next to the taco stand that I saw by the road, and I park the RV. I then head out of the RV while Kurama follows. Let's see, some Southeast Asian looking guy manning the stand, Vietnamese I'm guessing. Taco stand…interesting. I see a logo of a football goalie standing in front of a net, with the word 'PUTO!' spelled out in comic sans right above the net. The Vietnamese guy yells in Vietnamese accented English "Welcome to Puto! Where no shirt, no problem!" O…kay.

I look up at the green and red menu, one side in Vietnamese, the other in English. Irony not lost on me. I say "I'll have one…Puto! taco." Kurama nods and says "Same." I'm guessing he's trying to avoid saying 'puto'.

Suddenly, the Vietnamese man yells "DOUBLE PUTO!" I hear a bunch of people out in the distance echo "Double Puto!" This is some Twilight Zone crap. I reach for some Thai bhat in my back pocket and pay for both of us. Within a minute, we got both of our soft shell mystery meat tacos.

I take a bite into it and the Vietnamese man yells "PUTO!" Ah shut up already…interesting. Tacos with MSG. Bold choice there. Kurama eats his taco with a look of disgust. Eh, I don't care too much for the taste, just hope I ain't eating deep fried rat. I scarf the rest of the 'thing' down as Kurama eats his taco half way through and disposes the rest in a green trash bin.

Back in the RV, I take the wheel, Kurama takes his old seat. I turn the ignition on and start up the engine. I see the 'Yellow Flag' bar up head, like five blocks away, and say "Drinks are on me, too. My treat." Kurama says like he forced himself to speak "Thank you." I hit the gas and drive off. "How was the Puto!?" I say, smirking. Kurama shakes his head and says "Most foul…WATCH OUT!"

Oh crap!

RV goes face to side with a really expensive looking black Lexus sedan. My head bounces off the steering wheel, Kurama's against the dashboard. I hear some glassware break apart and shatter. Looking through the window on the RV door, I see a few white middle aged men in the car. Oh boy, this is going to be good.

"UROD BLAYT!" I hear someone yell. Kurama anxiously says "That was Russian." Oh boy. A blonde man in a charcoal suit, sporting a thick blonde mustache, gives us the middle finger, while a tall black haired man in a dark green trenchcoat steps out of the driver seat. He has a thick scar running diagonally across his face, and short, black hair combed forward. Guy yells "Urodi! Moi mashina! Shto vih zdelalih c moi mashina?!" I see a pistol being pulled from an ankle holster.

I hit the gas and speed off, scarface running back into his car. I hear a shot go off and a bullet pierce through the roof of the car. "Just what I wanted, psychotic Russian gangsters!" I swerve and almost run over a Thai woman carrying groceries, as the beat up Lexus sedan chases us from behind. "Yusuke, please do something! I do not want Shiori to learn that her son died in a Russian gangland execution!"  
"I'm trying!" I yell, another shot piercing the RV, this time breaking into the windshield. Bullet lodges in the glass like a reminder of what those nutjobs plan to do to us.

I swerve left, but the Russians keep on our ass. The radio ends some Thai commercial and the DJ yells  _"Menya Zovut Shnur! Vih vseh zavut Urodami!"_

I drive through a street light, the pole bouncing against the asphalt and almost crushing some hobo. _"Hui. Hui."_

Another gunshot and I turn right into a thin alleyway.  _"Ochen strahnih stahl gorohd Leningrad. Bilh kulturnih_   _stalitsiyah, ah tepehr adin mat!"_ I Burt Reynolds the RV through the alleyway while the Russians keep in close contact.  _"Menya zavut shnur, menya zavut shnur. Ya priduh k tebeh vo snah, mon amur. Invalidamih y urodami, narkomanomih, mon ami."_

I swerve around an elderly Indian man, who, from my view of the side mirror, sighs in relief and then gets run over by the Russians. The Lexus pulls up to the right of the RV. I swerve right and drive the Lexus into a crowded outdoor restaurant called the China Bowl. Taking my cue, I swerve left and speed as far away from that crap as possible.  _"Vsehm strashnoh smotreht, a anih tolkoh radih"_

Kurama heaves a sigh of relief and says "Thankfully, that has been resolved. Preferably with minimal injuries."  _"Oh, u kto-toh opaht serhtseh vstaloh"_ Sirens suddenly go off.  _"Novih lyudih, shto ihm starih maloh?"_

Fuck.

About ten blocks from the China Bowl, I stop our RV at a sidewalk and wait for the cop to pull over behind us. For some strange reason, the cop car pulls to the RV window on my left. I roll the window down and say "Officer, that was purely self-defense and survival, those lunatics were trying to shoot us. Three Russians, in a Lexus, over by that outdoor restaurant." The officer, a middle aged Thai man with a chinstrap beard, climbs out of his squad car and approaches my window. He pulls his aviator sunglasses down and says in Thai-accented English "Seems we got ourselves a meth lab." "What? Hell no, man, just two friends taking an RV around Thailand. What's shady about that?!" The officer smirks and says "Well, I witnessed you two leaving the scene of a hit and run." "We were chased away by those crazy Russians! They were going to kill us!" The pig smirks and says "Still, I'm willing to bet I'd find something very interesting if I do a quick search. However…"

Oh it's that kind of cop. Dick. "Here, this should cover it." I reach into the black duffle bag and pull out a stack of 20s. I take out ten of the Jacksons and hand it over to the cop. He says "Much obliged, stay out of trouble." I nod, and suddenly feel my taco looking for an exit strategy. Oh crap.

As the cop counts the bribe, I puke out the window and on his shoes. As I wipe vomit off my lips, Kurama stares at me like he just seen a very gory execution.

You could cut the tension with a butter knife.

"You…YEHT MAE!" Here we go again.

I hit the gas and drive off while a psychotic homicidally-inclined Roanapurian cop chases us in his squad car, firing shots at our RV. I yell "Why didn't I puke BEFORE I gave him the bribe?!" Kurama yells "Why did you even eat that rubbish?! Why did you even drag me into this nonsense?! Why are corrupt policemen and Russian gangsters sieging my thoughts?!" "STOP YELLING!" I yell. Kurama reaches for the radio and shuts it off, yelling "If I listen to this man named 'rope' once more, I will hang myself with one!"

A shot hits the RV, and suddenly I hear a really creepy sucking sound. A fire breaks out in the back of our meth lab. I slam the breaks in the middle of an intersection, running a red light in the process. Something, I'm guessing the squad car, it rams the RV from behind, while the fire starts to get out of control. Kurama yells "We must exit!"

I shatter the windshield with my elbow and jump through. Kurama does the same. Oh crap, the money! I jump back into the RV and scoop up the duffle bag, the flames spreading to the front of the RV. I toss the duffle bag at Kurama, the fox yelling "Retrieve the backpack as well!" Why? Screw that, I jump back onto the intersection, a crowd of locals parking their cars and enjoying the show. Kurama yells "Our passports are in there!" He jumps back into the RV, grabs the pink backpack, tosses it out the RV and at my face, and suddenly yells in pain. He jumps out and fans his burning basketball shorts, and then bites the bullet and takes them off.

And here I am. In downtown Roanapur, standing outside a burning, soon to be detonating, mobile meth lab, with my red haired partner in crime, biotech graduate, and part time fox demon, who now is wearing nothing but tighty whities and cheap black sandals, nursing third degree burns on his legs. With dozens of people watching.

Must admit, I feel pretty American right now.

I tap Kurama on the shoulder and say "Might be a good idea to fuck on out of here." "Agreed," he says, as the two of us run into a dirty alleyway. I feel a strong heat coming from behind, and a pretty big explosion sounds off. And just like that, the meth cooking career of Shuichi Minamino has come to an end.

We pass the alleyway into another commercial street, seeing another alley in front of us. We run through traffic and keep running until Kurama stops by a green dumpster. He pants, puts his hands on his exposed chest, and weakly says "One moment, Yusuke." Kurama then sticks his head into the dumpster, and suddenly, thousands of miles away, across the vast Pacific ocean, in Estadio Jalisco, I imagine tens of thousands of Club Atlas ultras, and tens of thousands of Deportivo Guadalajara fanatics, and tens of thousands of Club Leones Negros crazies, all holding hands, and singing peace songs, and all waiting, just waiting, for the moment that will make all their dreams come true. And as Kurama's half eaten taco races out of his gullet and into the green dumpster, the entire stadium erupts into 'PUTO!'

Wiping his lips of vomit, Kurama heaves a deep sigh and says "Please, a clothing store. Or an airport. I would prefer either/or." We walk up to a street full of run down apartments…I see some white haired weirdo in sunglasses and a trenchcoat talking to a tall Chinese woman in red and white robes.

As we start passing them, the Chinese woman whistles and says "Look we have here." She sounds like Songxie, except feminine and not an ornery jackass. Kurama blushes and says "Pardon our appearance…it is quite a long story. Do you happen to know a nearby clothing store?" The Chinese woman smiles like she just found food, and says "No worry, I get you clothes. Come with me. Name's Shenhua."

Kurama turns to me, and I nod. We handled much worse if they try anything. And who knows, maybe there is such a thing as a free lunch.

Walking up the apartment steps, Shenhua in front, followed by almost naked Kurama, me, and this weird guy who I now know as 'Lotton', I turn to Lotton and ask "So, what you do for a living?" He freezes, pushes his sunglasses closer into his beady eyes, and says "Justice…to all…and mercy…to none. A white dove strikes…upon the wicked…" Ehh?!

I look at him like he is an idiot, odds are he is, and ask "What drugs are you on? Do they go well with sake?" I hear Shenhua say "No mind him. He stand around, look pretty, that thing." She turns to Kurama and puts her right hand on his chin, saying "Mind me. Mind me all you want." Kurama blushes and raises his hands in protest, saying "I'm flattered but..." Shenhua has none of that and shoves him into an apartment. A kitchen on the right, a brown sofa with a TV and a Nintendo 64 on the left. Shenhua motions Kurama and me to take a seat on the sofa, and says "Be back soon, with clothes." Kurama nods and says "Thank you, thank you. I have money, I will compensate." Shenhua just gives us a wink and steps through a doorway.

Okay, might as well make ourselves at home. I seat myself on the left side of the couch, duffle bag between my legs, Kurama on the right side, pink backpack on his lap, almost covering his body. These past few hours have been, well, kinda freaking crazy.

The heir of Tourin and the former big cheese of Gandara, staying in some strange woman's apartment in Southeast Asia, trying to dodge cops and Russian gangsters after a crystal meth deal. And one of us is almost naked.

A lot can happen in a short amount of time, I found out.

The Chinese woman steps back into the living and says "Okay, red hair, I have clothes." We both turn around as Kurama says "Oh, good, thank you…"

I think he saw it just as soon as I did. Is that…what I think it is?

Is that a red strap-on dildo?

I blink.

It is a ribbed red strap-on dildo. I hear Kurama shudder and say "Oh…no."

Within a few seconds, we find ourselves on the sidewalk, surrounded by broken glass, still carrying our respective bags, Kurama still in his underwear but probably relieved that his anus isn't begging for mercy.

I run. Fast. Fox boy runs even faster. I think that Chinese lady just topped Karasu on the creepy level.

Within a few hours, we saw a Chinese guy pee on our RV, a Vietnamese-run taco stand called 'Puto!', a trio of psychotic Russian gangsters, a psychotic Thai cop, and a ribbed red strap-on dildo.

We find ourselves in another alleyway. I pant and laugh "Hey fox boy, at least it matched your hair haha." "Be quiet! That was terrifying! I…oh dear! I feel violated!" Kurama yells, looking like he just suffered through a gory execution. I pant and say "Shuichi Minamino, raped again, in someone's fantasy. Guess who?" I flip on my 'George Carlin' voice and say "Ey, he was askin' for it." "Please be quiet," Kurama snarls. I add "Look at him, walking around in his tighty whities, rocking those delicate features. She got a strap on, couldn't control herself." "Yusuke…" Kurama snarls again, this time with more bite. I keep laughing and say "Just some levity, for the crappy situation we've been in. Anyway, I think I see a department store." Kurama nods and says "Good, finally. I can finally stop violating local decency ordinances."

We step into the department store and immediately get snickers from everyone on the first floor, and I ain't talking about the candy bar. Probably intending to make this last as short as possible, Kurama quickly scans the size tags on a rack of cheap jeans, and then pulls a sky blue pair out. He then walks up to a shelf full of random 'Muay Thai' shirts for tourists. He pulls out a white shirt from the shelf and approaches the register.

Dropping the jeans and shirt on the counter, he reaches into his pink backpack and pulls out a fist full of bhat. Kurama slams the bhat on the counter and says "Keep the change." The middle aged female Thai clerk says "Okay…" and starts tallying everything up. She then says "You are 5 bhat short."

Kurama nearly falls on his face after hearing that. He reaches back into the backpack and pulls out a copper coin. Satisfied that he has paid in full, Kurama immediately pulls the tags off the jeans and puts them on, right at the counter. He then does the same with the white shirt. Him putting it on, I find out that fox boy bought one of those patterned shirts that fade away after two laundry washes. His pattern is that of a pair of Muay Thai boxers hitting each other in a ring. Patting his clothes for any stray tags, Kurama zips the backpack up and swings it around his shoulders, saying "Well, that takes care of clothing. Shall we proceed?"

We step out of the department, me with the black duffle bag around my right shoulder, Kurama with the backpack on his back. I reach into my jean pocket and pull out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. I take one out, wedge it between my lips, put my pack back in my pocket, and then take out a lighter. I light my cigarette, pocket my lighter, and take a drag. Damn I don't know why Kurama doesn't smoke or find something relax with. These past few hours, damn they been something.

I say "C'mon, I think I know where that bar is." Kurama sighs and says "I would prefer we go to the airport now. The longer we remain in this city, the more likely we will be exposed to some form of insanity." Heh. "I hear you Kurama, but I need some sake in me after all that crap we just went through. My treat. I know you're not one to turn down a free drink." Kurama sighs and says "Very well, one drink. But first, we must find some nourishment. I rather not drink on a purged stomach."

Plates of massaman curry in our bellies, we step into 'Yellow Flag' the bar, free of crazy Russians and red strap-ons. I hope. A Chinese man in a cowboy hat disarms a Western European looking man in some douchebag Ed Hardy shirt and starts beating the living crap out of him, while everyone else plays cards and drinks alcohol. Walking to the bar counter, I check out the tables…oh-kay. A gun, another gun, a machete and a gun, two guns and a firecracker, a fucking hand grenade…and a shotgun. Kurama whispers "This reminds me of a Mykker mead hall, back in Gandara. With modern weapons." Okay, good, at least fox boy has experience with these types.

We sidestep the ground and pound going on with the cowboy and Ed Hardy, and sit down by the counter. Kurama takes the seat to the left of me. On my right, is a long haired blonde woman with a pink tank top that says 'Just Do It' over her megaton rack, and green shorts held up by a sky blue fabric belt. I turn to the bartender, a middle aged Vietnamese looking guy with a paper thin moustache. The guy is reading into some Vietnamese newspaper, ignoring us. I say "Hey bartender, got any sake here?"

Bartender, still looking down at his newspaper, says in Vietnamese-accented English "Nope." Alright, let's try something else. "Got any Yamazaki whisky?" Bartender looks up, scans us two, and then says "Yeah, I think I do, 12 Year single malt. That's high end shit though, going to cost you." I crack a smile and say "We're celebrating."

The blonde woman suddenly says in some American-accented English "Hey Bao, let me take care of their drinks." Bao the bartender, his back to us, shifts through stacks of whisky bottles and says "Got it." The American woman turns to us and says "Name's Eda. What's brought a pair of handsome Japanese guys to this humble abode." I say "Hey, I'm engaged, and Shuichi here is taken. Will take the drinks though, thanks." Eda smirks at us and pulls her pink tinted eyeglasses up to her forehead. She turns around and arcs against the bar counter, and damn I'm really glad Keiko is not here to see this lady show off her rack in a new angle.

She says "I've been hearing some very interesting things…" Bao sets down our shots of Yamazaki whisky. Kurama eyes this Eda lady suspiciously. I'm with you, fox boy. I take a sip of my whisky…damn that stuff is smooth…and say "Me too. Seems like Saddam Hussein doesn't shit gold and SARS doesn't mix well with tea, what's it to you?" She starts laughing and says "True, true, but I have also been hearing about a black haired East Asian man carrying a duffle bag and a red haired East Asian man carrying a pink backpack. That they were originally wanted by Roanapur PD over an exploding meth RV that gave a local cop third degree burns." At least that dick survived. I say "Eh, I don't know anything about that, lady." She smirks and says "Police have turned their search over to the real power brokers in this city. Or to be exact, the Russian Mafiya." Oh fuck.

I glance at Kurama and I can tell he is not having this. He takes a swig of his whisky and I do the same, saying "Again, don't know what you're talking about, Eda." She points her right leg at our 100 grand and says "Oh I believe I do. See, I heard that the very same mobile meth lab crashed into the personal vehicle of the Underboss of Hotel Moscow, the Russian Mafiya branch here in Thailand. A stoic, calm man, usually, named Boris Melamud. Has a scar across the face." I try to hide my reaction at the news. She presses on "Very dangerous man. Again, usually calm, so something must have really pissed him off to put out a bounty on these two individual's heads." Bounty…? I steal a glance at Kurama, who is now really going to town on his whisky.

Eda keeps going "Very well respected ex. Russian Spetsnaz paratrooper, a veteran of the Soviet-Afghan war. And a man that was very, very proud of his Lexus sedan, really loved it. Did you know that he used to be the sergeant of his current boss? Oh her…they call her Balalaika. Because when she gets her hands on a sniper rifle, she makes music. …Not someone you want to anger, that is certain."

Kurama hoarsely asks "What are you attempting to say…Eda?" She says "I am saying that, for a fee, I could offer you protection." I go halfway with my whisky and say "No thanks, we can handle ourselves." She laughs and says "Going to the airport I imagine? They will be there just waiting for you to try it. However, I have access to a certain NGO that can smuggle you back home. I also have the address to an inn, the Ramsap Inn. It is a safe house of mine. All I require is a retainer fee." She again points at our duffle bag. I finish my whisky and say "Again, thanks but no thanks." She shrugs her shoulders and says "Suit yourself." Eda fishes out some bhat from her shorts and slams it on the counter. Bao counts the bhat, and says "Yeah, that's enough."

Enough for us too. I had my fill of this nut house. The American lady gets off her stool and walks toward the exit, and I suddenly feel like I got knives in my back. I turn to Kurama and speak in Japanese "What do you think, fox boy?" Kurama sips on what's left of his whisky and says "I think she is speaking the truth, though I do not trust her. Perhaps an escape by sea would be more appropriate. We could offer payment to a fishing captain and return to land in Cambodia. Or I could use the watch in our backpack to contact Botan, she could take us to safety."

Eh, Botan. I say "I really don't want to tell Botan that we need an exfil cause we sold crystal meth and pissed off Russian mobsters. I really can't figure how that conversation would go." Kurama frowns and says "Well we must decide, either contact Botan now or remain hidden from plain view until we find an alternative means of escape." Yeah, yeah.

I turn to Bao and ask in English "Hey Bao, you know where we can get a hotel room to rent?" Bao nods and says "I got a whorehouse upstairs, running rate is…" "Woah, woah! We just want a room together, no happy endings needed. We're family men here," I say. Bao looks at us, laughs, and says "Oh…okay. I get it. Say, if you let me put it on video, I can give you guys a cut." "What?!" Kurama and I say at the same time. Bao says "Oh, yeah, some of the Chinese run a porno side racket. Seriously, I'll cut you two in. You two? You could be stars."

ALRIGHT, NO!

THAT'S IT!

"Last fucking time! For everyone in this fucking city to hear! We are not fucking each other, got it?! Just give us a fucking room! A room for two heterosexual men with girlfriends!" I yell…seriously what the hell is it with this place?!

Bao raises his hands in protest and says "Alright, relax. 50 bucks, American. Each, and for the night. Don't trash the place and we're peachy." "Deal," I say, pulling out two Grants from the duffle bag. I pay the dick and he gives us a brass key, saying "Room 204, on the left. Mind the smell in the hallway, some Kiwi ODed on heroin three days ago and I just found the body yesterday." "Nice detail," Kurama says as he finishes his whisky.

We get off our stools and approach the staircase in the back of the bar. Kurama walks around a pillar, and suddenly ducks under a Scandinavian looking man's right haymaker, aimed, very badly, at the Indonesian looking man with the with bandana, the red ripped shirt with the bandolier over it, and the dark green cargo shorts. The Scandinavian looking man, long, dirty blonde haired with an Enki-styled goatee/moustache combo, dressed in a grey and red striped leisure shirt and dark grey jeans, pulls out a revolver and yells "Vitun huijari! Minun pitäisi tappaa teitä että paskaa!"

As he prepares to blow the Indonesian guy away for whatever reason he came up with, Kurama grabs blondie's wrist with his right hand, slides his left arm in a knife shape into blondie's nose, and spins him off the poker table and face first into the bar counter, like one of those sambo/judo moves. Kurama then squeezes on the guy's wrist until the guy drops the revolver. Patting the man on the chest, Kurama nods and says "That was resolved better then I hoped." He turns around and walks toward the staircase again, when blondie suddenly turns to Kurama and rabbit punches Kurama in the back of his neck, sending Kurama face first into another table and a pile of this weird white stuff.

Kurama's face smacks against the white stuff like it was baby powder. As I move in to beat down this prick, I see a tall Latino looking guy on the other end of the table with the powder, sporting a black ponytail, a thick goatee, and a thin moustache, dressed in a mauve dress shirt, a pink sports jacket, and sky blue slacks held up by a grey leather belt. He pulls out a black looking pistol out of nowhere. As blondie charges in to fuck up Kurama, the Latino guy shoots blondie in the neck. Blondie takes a step back, gurgles blood, grasps his neck, and mutters "Hetkinen!" The Latino guy fires another shot, this time into blondie's forehead, sending him on the floor, head resting against the pillar.

You know, I find it funny, out of all the crazy ways I watched humans and demons kick the bucket, gunshot to the head is a rare one. Maybe the first.

Blondie bleeds out against the pillar as the Latino guy says in Mexican Spanish-accented English "Órale, mira, I saw what happened. You tried to keep the peace, I respect that. I won't give you shit over touching some of my perico, ése, so it's all good. Enjoy the free bump, vato." Bump?

Oh.

Kurama just snorted up a pile of cocaine. Looks like things are starting to get out of control.

Oh boy.

I pull Kurama off the pile before he starts growing demon plants that shout new business ideas. With a grunt, I lift him up and carry him on my shoulder. His face looks like he just huffed some paint. I wipe the expensive powder off his nose, mouth, and chin, my hand going numb.

Hm, always wondered…I take a deep sniff of the stuff in my hand…okay, I see, I get the freaking point. I wipe the coke against my jeans before…damn this is like someone took the good stuff in chocolate and raised it to the billionth power. Okay, this is bad. Very very bad. An S-Class Kitsune geeked out on this much pure Colombian cocaine…oh fuck.

"You okay there, fox boy?" I ask, going up the stairs. He just giggles and fidgets a bit.

I got a bad feeling about this.

Kurama on my left shoulder, the 100 grand duffle bag on my right, I unlock the door to Room 204 and step in. I drop the duffle bag on the floor and let Kurama fall on the bed, coked out of his mind. He starts giggling again. I see a cockroach walking across the wooden floor, and I do Bao a favor and punish it over the overdue rent. I then take off my shoes and put them by the door. I turn around and watch Kurama throw his shirt on the floor.

I got single malt whisky and a sample of pure South American cocaine in my veins. I'm fucking wired. Kurama, who has removed his pink backpack and is now sweating and shirtless, has at least two grams of pure coke pulsating through his Kitsune veins. Tonight is going to range from pretty interesting to absolute fucking disaster. That's the spectrum I'm looking at…and now he has the rose out. Kurama is coked out and has his rose out.

"Yusuke…?" Kurama asks, smiling like an idiot. "Yeah…" I say, kinda scared, and at the same time, kinda curious about what I'm going to hear next. "I like chess. Do you like chess do you see a chessboard?" "Uh, not much of a player…I don't got any chessboard."

He takes off his sandals and lays barefooted and shirtless on the grey sheet covered queen sized bed. He folds his legs in a crossed yoga pose and says "Let's make one. Let's make a chessboard." Uhh…what?

"How do you plan to make a freaking chessboard?" Kurama laughs and says "With a rose, Yusuke. With a rose." Fox boy is tripping balls.

He points at a wooden chair by a wooden desk and says "There." Out of nowhere, Kurama extends his rose into a whip and chops the chair up into tiny pieces. He climbs off the bed and starts sorting through the mess he made. "Uh Kurama…that's not our chair." Kurama simply smiles at me and anxiously says "It's no matter, we will compensate Bao accordingly." He grabs a few chunks of wood and shaves them with the thorns of his whip. I sit on the bed and watch him go to work.

Holy crap, he actually carved out a chess set. Black gets designated with a rose petal wedged in the chess piece. The bishops look more like tiny penises, the knights look like Hiei's dragon of the darkness flame, but rest look pretty damn accurate. He even carved the crowns of the kings with nine tails on top. The rose whip is back to being a rose, and back to hiding in his thick red hair. "Nice work, Kurama. Pretty good use of the energy boost," I say. He laughs and says "Please, just call me El Ajedrecista." "Alright, the El Ajedrecista. Seriously though, you could have spent today writing some BS report, or some doujin story, or draw some doodle and make zero cash, like that Yu Kaito guy does, and look at you here. You cooked up some meth and we are both rich for it, nice eh?"

"You goddamn right I did!" Kurama stands up, his chest covered in sweat. O-kay…yeah, that's not normal. He smiles, high out of his mind, and reaches into the duffle bag. He starts folding up Jacksons and Grants, saying "Grant will be white, Jackson will be black." I say "Eh, I think they both were pretty pasty back in the day." He starts chuckling and says "Well details, details."

After a minute, we got ourselves a chessboard, and since I rather have him here then wander off somewhere, I'll keep the guy occupied. Alright, let's see, how does thing work again? Alright, I pick up a pawn. "HURRY!" Kurama yells out of nowhere. "Jesus man, relax!" I yell…okay. I put the pawn down on the folded up face of Andrew Jackson. Kurama immediately grabs the black dragon on his right and slams it down on a fold up square of Grant, like we gone past speed chess and into crack chess.

Five moves later, he takes my queen and yells "Ah, amateurish of yourself Yusuke! Only a fool would not spot that tactic two moves ahead!" Hey. I say "Yeah, I ain't the chess player here, I like Mortal Kombat and shit like that." Kurama laughs suddenly and says "Mortal Kombat…did you know I once tore an ice demon's head clean off his shoulders once? Did you?" "Uh, no I can't say I did." He yells "YOUR MOVE!" Oh Jesus, fuck. I pick up a pawn and drop it one square forward, I don't even care about winning. He then immediately moves a bishop in to take my knight and says "I never usually see the spine still attached but that demon still had his spine dangling from his head, quite a surprising experience. Ironic too, given the context. Very very ironic, or paradoxical, or…it is your move Yusuke…"

Yeah, okay, I move my now freed rook to take his, one of his, bishop. He says "Or nihilistic, or existentialistic, or romanticist, or post-modern sub-categorical modernist! Ah, ooo…checkmate." He moves his queen and I don't even try to protest. Okay "That's done." Kurama smiles and nods, saying "Yes…once again, I am victories…victorious victorious. Oh how I love a game in which you could defeat your opponent ten moves in advance. It truly warms my Kitsune heart and sharpens my nerve. Shall we play once again?" I shake my head and say "Nah, I'm good. I'm going to lay down now, I'm coming down from the sample I got from your…uh…face."

I collapse on the bed, heart possibly racing if my heart would still be beating. Liquor and coke do not mix. Kurama laughs to himself and says "I will be in the shower." I say "Okay, okay."

Within a few minutes, I suddenly find myself dozing off. Okay, this is happening...

I'm in an auditorium, front row seats. Hiei is on stage, dressed in a black tuxedo with a white undershirt and snake skin loafers. He tugs on his bowtie and says to a microphone "Truly, whenever I witness an incident in Human World…I always pine for the incident to grow out of proportion until it wipes out mankind." Everyone starts laughing. He waves at us to stop and says "Allow me to illustrate. Say a boiler in downtown Tokyo ruptures and sends steam into the circuit board of the main electrical substation, frying the board and toasting the wires to the point that they cannot be repaired. All traffic signals deactivate, triggering a city wide traffic jam that freezes paramedics, firetrucks, and the police in the streets. And at the same time a massive, once in a century heatwave stemming from the Sea of Japan descends on Tokyo. Air conditioning and running water become unobtainable, causing typhus and bubonic plague to make a comeback, and with a blink, humans start dying by the thousands, but before that, MAKAI INSECTS EAT THEIR BRAINS! And they become possessed and storm the hospitals, but the hospitals tell them to queue up, so they start tentacle raping the nurses and set the hospital ablaze. And the flames drives them into a further frenzy, so they start stabbing salarymen and Gaijin cosplayers. And a gust comes along and sets the entire metropolis ablaze, and those that are still fine, they take their anger on the possessed, and they start disemboweling them! Playing jump rope with their intestines, throwing feces at their faces, shit like that. Then everyone snorts meth and ecstasy and they march onto city hall, where they chikan the mayor, strangle his wife, and take turns blowing the statue of Shintaro Ishihara." Oh, pfft what the fuck?!

Hiei takes a gulp of water from a bottle and then says "And now it appears, now, things are about to get out of control. And so everyone panics and slowly funnels onto the highway. But the rich corporate executives used bullshit cement for the highway, and so people at random fall through the highway like it is Takeshi's Challenge. And those that survive find out that the suburbs are ablaze, razing all the identical homes with identical fires and roasting all the identical housewives with their identical masturbating 'Not in Education, Employment, or Training' kids. And now, the inferno spreads into the forests, and the forests burn furiously, and Botan flies out yelling "Hinageshi is dead! Hinageshi is dead!" And she is, she is, finally, that red haired peeping cunt Hinageshi is dead! Dead! Now hundreds of regional fires come together into one inter-island inferno, and now the entire southern half of Japan is burning uncontrollably, except Shikoku because even fires have standards. And then the fire spreads across the Sea of Japan, producing millions of tons of irradiated shrimp tempura! And it crosses into Far Eastern Russia, blowing up oil platforms, bankrupting oligarchs, interrupting bestiality, and killing millions of Russian eskimos and now released convicts that have gone blind from drinking cologne! And the fire then leapfrogs over to South Korea, but the South Koreans politely request the fire to pay 50% income tax. So the fire says "Fuck that" and goes to North Korea. And the North Koreans demand that the fire star in their latest blockbuster film, directed by some Japanese guy they kidnapped twenty years ago. But the fire was having none of that and instead went southwest and burned down Beijing and Shanghai, killing all the rich Han dickheads and roasting all their evil, faggoty, ecstasy addicted self-absorbed kids with their American state university marketing degrees!"

People applaud and laugh, almost like it is canned laughter. Hiei takes a breather and says "And while this is happening, Mongolia burns to its foundation, but no one honestly cares. And now the entire East Asian territory is ablaze, triggering an incendiary chain reaction that ruptures the stratosphere and dissolves the laws of physics and chemistry. Earth and heart combine, burning clouds of acid rain turn fish into LSD, gamma ray bursts cause the Koorime to break down into orgy, and the sky fills up with PURPLE SHIT! And then at once, the barriers between Spirit World and Human World tear asunder! And all the souls of days past return to their old homes. Tokugawa Ieyasu, Saigo Takamori, Hajime Saito, Yukio Mishima, Megaman, Hideki Tojo, Stannis Baratheon, my father-in-law Shinji, your father-in-law Shinji! An endless stream of dead father-in-law Shinjis come pouring out, into the mini bar of a spiritual pachinko parlor. And the dead father-in-law Shinjis circle around and crack open Kirin Ichibans. They drink their pisswater and begin to rant. They rant on how they were always screwed over, how their parents were ignorant yokels and their kids are lazy NEETs. They say their bosses laid them off because they were jealous of them and the Yakuza were out to get them. They say the Koreans own everything and the Buraku caste get special treatment to the point that it's reverse-castration. And round and round this hate spins, faster and faster, until the hate encompasses the entire universe, and then, IT EXPLODES! Into a trillion universes, and every universe has a trillion realms, and every realm has a trillion dead father-in-law Shinjis. And all the dead father-in-law Shinjis live in bliss. They have fashionable clothes and steady jobs at reasonable hours. They get overtime pay, their kids like to work. And every Friday, without fail, father-in-law Shinji gets promoted. Every week, every Friday, every father-in-law Shinji enjoys the pleasure of a raise and a pat on the back from their boss. And finally, father-in-law Shinji feels content. Now you understand why I hope mankind dies out?!"

"Bwabubabab!" I jolt awake, hearing splashing. "Oh shit, Kurama's drowning!" I yell out, reeling from my dream of Hiei impersonating George Carlin. I rush into the bathroom, and find three things that I do not think came with the room.

Kurama, in the tub, in his jeans, bathwater up to his shoulders, reaching for a radio that's on the dirty, rusty sink. On Kurama's head, a felt black flat cap, the kind you expect golf caddies from the 1950s or NYC taxi drivers to wear. A giant sea louse is floating with him in the pool, one of its legs floating a few inches away from it. On the floor, a sealed and half empty bottle of Yamazaki whisky, 12 year single malt.

What the fuck?!

Kurama laughs and says "Ahh Yusuke, I was simply attempting to offer Karasu here some music. Only fair, I considered." "What? Kurama, you coked out nut, where you got…all this crap?" He giggles and splashes in his tub while the sea louse flails around, saying "Ah, the New Zealander that overdosed next door, he had a few items he did not take to Spirit World with him. So I claimed them for myself, the radio and the hat." "And the whisky?" He laughs and says "Bao gave it to me, as a gift for de-escalating an incident, and offered four hundred dollars to me for the right to video tape us fornicating. I respectfully declined the offer, and accepted the gift."

"And the sea louse?" I ask. Kurama says "I named him Karasu. I never truly finished my fun with that particular cretin. If only I remained in Yoko form for a touch longer, I would have truly made a spectacle. But, alas, I must settle for his reincarnation." He twists another one of the sea louse's legs off, and then says "Still fancying my hair, no? Oh what a tragedy! Still want to get into my skin, see what you longed? Well, very well!" I watch Kurama start reaching down his jeans and alarm bells go off. I immediately grab the sea louse and flush it down the dirty ass toilet before I could witness a really bad live action fanfiction. A fox demon physically and sexually molesting a sea louse, yep I seen it all. You hear me pacifier breath? I'm ready for those pearly gates!

Kurama chuckles and mutters "Fatality! Flawless victory! No, the other way. Flawless…victory. FATALITY!" I take the whisky away from Kurama and say "Alright, you had more than enough. I'm assuming you didn't take a second bump from that Mexican. Right?" Kurama just smiles at me like an idiot.

"Right?"

He just stares at me. After a while, he says "I was offered." "Oh fuck no! Damn it fox boy!" I yell. I set the whisky bottle down and take the radio away from Kurama before he could pull off a Dr. Gonzo and blast himself through the wall. "No, Yusuke please. I haven't even begun," he whimpers, climbing out of the tub, splashing water onto the floor and soaking my socks. He falls on his knees and tries to snatch the radio. I run out the bathroom with the radio and Kurama chases after me with the sealed bottle of whisky.

After giving up chase three seconds in, Kurama yells "Fine! I will create my music." He adjusts his flat cap, half naked, soaked in bathwater and hopefully nothing else, and tilts the whisky bottle to his mouth as if it is a microphone. "Gatov rebyata?!" he yells in Russian. I sit down on the bed and brace myself for the upcoming karaoke session.

He sings softly into the whisky bottle neck "Na nedelku do vtorovoh, ya uyedu v Komarovo. Poglideht otvihkshim glazom, na Baltiiskuio volnu. E na moreh budu razom. Korablohm e vodolazom. Sahm sebah naiduh v puchineh, yecli shasom zatanu."

He runs up to the window and yells "Davai druhsyeh!" He then turns to me and yells into the whisky bottle "Na nedelku! Do vtorovoh! Ya uyedu! V Komarovo! Sahm sebah! Naiduh v puchineh! Yecli chasom…zatanuuu…" He goes on singing as I try to zone him out. "E u vas v karelskih skalah…" I try to swipe the whisky bottle out of his hand. "…budet lichnih vodolaz." Got it!

He sticks his head out the window and sings "Na nedelku! Do vtorovoh!" I unscrew the whisky cap. "Ya uyedu! V Komarovo!" I take a big gulp, damn good stuff. "Sahm sebah! Naiduh v puchineh!" I yell "What are you even singing about?!" "Yecli shasom…zatanuuu…" he finishes.

Without pause, he starts the next verse of this song, and all I can think in my head is 'Bolshevik! Bolshevik! With sour cream!' Damn, I'm mostly done with my coke and the mix with whisky is still making a mess. I don't to know what's going through fox boy's brain now. It's probably scrambled.

"Na nedelku! Do vtorovoh! Ya uyedu! V Roanapura! Sahm sebah! Naiduh v puchineh! Yecli shasom! Zatanuuu!"

A loud knock rings out from our door. Someone yells "IM LANG! IM LANG! SHUT THE FUCKING FUCK UP ALREADY!" Sounds like one of our temporary neighbors. Kurama just laughs and approaches me in the bed…okay he's looking a bit creepy. I give him room and watch him flop onto the bed, his soaked red hair drenching the bed sheets.

After a creepy five minutes of silence, last minute me being concerned that fox boy ODed and croaked, Kurama asks, muffled under the sheets "Yusuke?" "Yeah?" I say. "Is your heart still beating?" he says. I say "Hasn't for years, Kurama." He starts laughing under the sheets and says "Same…same." He grabs the radio and turns it on, and then fumbles through the stations until we get that freaking Russian station again.

After a long commercial in Thai, the DJ yells  _"Po zaprosu…Shokoladni Zayits. Pier Narciss. Pizdets, blayt."_ Some techno pop slash rap song starts off.  _"Ponaroshku shas ya kroshku na ladoshku palazhu…zhu…zhu…"_ Kurama starts laughing a lot, the guy singing it got a strange accent I can't figure out.  _"Akkuratno c krasnim bantohm ya obertku razvyazhu…zhu...zhu."_  Kurama can't stop laughing.  _"Appetitno, ochen sihtnoh, etah forma vseh vlechoht…choht…choht."_ I hear a commotion downstairs, no gunshots, just people arguing.

I take a heavy chug of whisky, like a fifth of the bottle in one go.  _"Prostoh laskovoh potrogaih konchiki moieh ushae…ushae…ushae…"_ I hear someone run up the stairs, heavy enough to shake the floor.  _"Tih zaprigayes soh mnoih visheh kozhanih micheih…cheih…"_

A giant, seven foot tall dark-skinned Arabic looking guy bursts through the door. He is built like a steroid junkie, shirtless and hairy, has a thick beard, short black hair, a half-missing nose, green cargo pants held up by a black leather belt, and dark green combat boots. He is also carrying, in both his arms, an eight foot long black spear that looks uncomfortably thin.

" _Ya shokoladni zayits! Ya laskovih merzhavits! Ya sladkih na vseh stoh, oh-oh-oh!"_  Kurama moves back and sticks his right hand in his red hair. The guy says in Arabic-accented English "They call me Sadiq Al-Khazouk. And I'm here for the bounty. And this end…" he points at the flat end of the spear "I call it Sodom. And the other…I call Gomorrah."

" _Ya shokoladni zayits! E guhb tvoih kasayis! Ya taiyuh tak leghko!"_

My anus is begging for mercy.

Kurama immediately charges Sadiq and swings his left leg at…that thing. It shatters in half, yep it's wooden. I then climb up and MMA Superman punch the freak in the chin. His legs buckle and he stumbles a bit, and then goes down for the count. Kurama wipes his hands against the sheets and yells "By God, the man drenched that spear in Vasoline!" I yell "Okay, I had enough of this shit!" I hear a mob of people running up the stairs. I quickly scoop up the folded up Grants and Jacksons and toss them into the duffle bag. Kurama grabs his black sandals and slips them on, slinging the pink backpack full of our passports around his bare back. He grabs his shirt and tries to sling it over his head, but his new hat is in the way. I hear a gunshot go off and I run up to my boat shoes. Putting them on, I hear Kurama yell "To hell with this" and toss his shirt way. He pulls a coked up rose out of his hair and turns it into a whip.

A Western European looking guy with a blue and white striped bandana with a red star in the middle, brown khakis, and a red sleeveless shirt runs up to me with a pistol. I grab the pistol barrel with my left hand, crush it, and then slam the prick head first into the doorframe. Doorframe cracks like a peanut. He bounces backwards, bleeding from his skull, as I see a mob of Southeast Asians, Europeans, and a couple of Arabs come after me with pistols, AK-47s, and shotguns. Sorry Koenma.

I charge up and yell "Spirit gun!" The sky blue blast vaporizes the dozen of hired goons and takes out the damn floor. I feel the whole place shake and rumble, the whole bar looks like it's about to collapse. I turn around, find a window with a fire escape, and jump through the window. Kurama joins me in the fire escape as the whole building goes down. He yells "I thought you wished to not use your powers!" "That was before I nearly got molested by Sadiq the Freak! Jump!"

We jump off the fire escape, our bags in hand, and land in an alleyway. I see a Crown Vic sedan in the alleyway with a blonde long haired woman at the wheel. She yells "Reconsidered my offer?!" Damnit, fine!

We run up to Eda, both of us jumping into the backseat. She drives off as the Yellow Flag crumples into shoddy brick work and broken dreams.

Passing another alleyway, Eda asks "What the hell was that? You have explosives on you?" I smile nervously and say "Nah, I have no idea what happened with that. Some big blue shit just took the floor out." Damn it got dark fast here. I check on the dashboard and see that it's 7:52 P.M. Time flies when you're on whisky and yayo.

"So, lover boys…" Eda says. Oh for fuck sakes! "Can this city cut it out with that?! Kurama and I are freaking straight!" She smirks and says "Whatever you say…did you think over my offer? For 30 grand, I will get you two smuggled back to Japan. Again, my offer. Given that I am your only friendly contact in this city, I recommend you take it." I yell "Screw that! I know when I'm getting jerked around. Kurama?" He nods and takes his cue. As Kurama prepares to kick open the side door and jump, Eda says "Remember that bottle of whisky Bao gave to the red head?" Kurama kicks the door open and jumps out, narrowly avoiding crashing into a dumpster.

She yells "Dumbass, what are you doing?!" I say "See ya, you crazy bitch!" As I jump out, I hear Eda yell "Wait! I spiked your whisky with mescaline!"

Ah fuck.

I bounce around on the asphalt as the Crown Vic passes an intersection. Before that crazy bitch could set the car in reverse, I book it across a perpendicular alleyway full of the backyards of shitty motel rooms.

Five blocks sped away from my original exit strategy, I start to feel the effects of the mescaline. I'm already getting worried about Kurama, or more so, the pricks within a thirty mile radius of drunk, coked out, mescaline tripping Kurama, with a rose whip in his hand. Hey, I think I am in the thirty mile radius. Awesome!

I see a mauve haired Chinese woman with giant tits, a black tank top with two pistols holstered on some shoulder straps, and really really  _really_  short denim shorts. I…wait…now the Chinese woman has a Japanese guy dressed like a bean counter right behind her. Black haired and in serious need of a new barber, yep I think he's Japanese. I approach them and yell "Hey, have you seen my friend here? East Asian, red haired, shirtless with a pink back…" I can hear the Chinese lady snickering at me.

"For the last fucking time…" I yell "we ain't like that…that…what the fuck is up with your face?!" Her eyes start shooting laser beams and her nose melts away. She looks like post-surgery Michael Jackson. Mescaline is one hell of a drug.

She yells "What did you say, dipshit?!" I…ow! That bitch just pistol whipped me! I fall on the floor, duffle bag on my chest, and I hear her yell "Fucking junkies. Probably going to blow someone for crack money when he sobers up." What…I'll fucking kick her ass! Japanese guy says "Relax Revy, he is just one of the typical Roanapur addicts." Addict?! We've been force fed drugs since we fucking got here! We ain't no fucking addicts!

We've been fucked by this city ever since we got here, on some occasions almost literally. We just want to get out of here!

I start to drift away, my head ringing. I close my eyes and hope that I wake up with all my organs still attached.

This place is like a live action Grand Theft Auto.

* * *

**AN:** I would like to thank the Southern Tier Brewing Company and the fine makers of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey for making this possible (please drink responsibly). Yusuke's dream sequence of Hiei doing stand up is a parody of a George Carlin skit with as many things changed as possible to reflect the setting more closely. Mescaline has a delayed reaction time, according strictly to online research. So...yeah. Here's hoping this made you laugh, someway or another.


	2. El Parásito

AN: Was originally going to be part of a larger chapter. Decided to split it up. Alcohol continues to be involved in the creation of this monstrosity. As such, tread lightly, and enjoy.

* * *

Ah crap, I'm floating over my body again…wait, why am I wearing military fatigues? And why am I in a jungle? I see Kuwabara, Hiei, and Kurama step out of the bushes, all three carrying M4 carbines and all dressed in military fatigues. The three are also wearing helmets covered in foliage and crap like that.

Kuwabara yells "Report, you maggots!" Hiei yells "Captain! Lance Corporal Smuckameshi passed out from heat exhaustion." What? Kuwabara yells "I see! Then devil dogs, there is only one thing we can do!" Kuwabara takes a dramatic pause, and then yells "Administer the silver bullet!" Eh? Hiei suddenly says "Captain, if you are the gun, then I am the bullet. A silver one, once lead, packed with gunpowder, waiting to be detonated." Kuwabara just stares at Hiei and yells "What the fuck does that even mean?!" Hiei says "Sir, I have no fathomable idea. I just thought it would seem stoic and intellectual, sir." Kuwabara yells "Stow it devil dog! Corporal Minamino! You are on silver bullet duty!" Kurama yells "Aye aye sir!" He then crouches behind my body and pulls down my pants. And boxers.

Oh crap.

I float down and yell at my body to wake the fuck up. My ass gets a free suntan as…wait…what the hell?! Kurama! Why are you removing your belt?! And your…oh no. Not that, man. C'mon, man, not that.

His red pubic haired penis starts to zero in on my ass like a scud missile. I yell like I'm drowning in horse piss for my body to wake up. "Wake up! WAKE UP!"

I wake up and find myself face to crotch with a barely adult looking Cambodian guy, my duffle bag on his shoulders and the smell of piss in the air. I quickly roll under his legs and drive an uppercut with such force into his crotch that I think his sperm cells divided. He pisses like a leaking water balloon and falls face first into his urine. I pull the duffle bag off his convulsing back and check the contents. Yep…still got the almost 100 grand.

It's bright outside and a group of Cambodian guys run away from me, screaming. I see a bunch of passed out dudes, mostly Vietnamese, Thai, and Western European/American/Australian, soaked in piss. Like this is some perverse morning ritual the deranged and the drunk all suffer through every single day. Like a baptism every day, reborn to reduce themselves into some wild, desperate animal. And then the next morning, the cycle repeats, until their adrenaline glands get chopped out or their only remaining useful organs get pulled out and sold on the black market. This is some strange shit.

I pat my back to make sure no one cut out my kidneys…all good. Hangovers from whisky are something. Hangovers from whisky, yayo, and mescaline all combined, are something else. My skull feels like there is a tiny green man on my forehead drilling through it with the world's tiniest jackhammer. I run up to a pile of garbage bags and spare the rest of the freaks the golden shower. Woah, my piss smells like something else. Something I'd usually find under my shoe after exiting a dive bar bathroom.

Somewhere in this city, Kurama is out there, sobering up. The fact that I don't see any smoking craters or hundred foot tall trees means he somehow kept his craziness to a minimum. Maybe we aren't fucking doomed.

Damn I'm hungry. Lost, hungry, and hungover. With a duffle bag full of Grants and Jacksons, in a city where possession is ten tenths of the law and gun control is a bold strategy. Unless I Spirit Gun this city to dirt, I'm fucked. And I don't think Koenma would like it if a half-human half-Mazoku wiped a city off the map, even if it's Sodom and Gomorrah. Shit, that's actually pretty ironic.

I walk out onto the sidewalk, on the prowl, looking for something to eat and something nonalcoholic to drink not called piss. Seeing nothing but motels, I cross the street and enter another wide alleyway full of the backyards of shit motels, trying to keep as low a profile as a hungover Japanese tourist can be with 100 grand in American dollars stashed in a duffle bag around his shoulders in a city that would make demons shit their pants. It's one thing to fight an S-class demon king. It's another thing to fight a bad mescaline trip and a mob of psychos wanting nothing more than to stick their real or plastic dicks into every hole in your body. I suddenly feel guilty for all the train grope porn I used to jerk off to.

I hear footsteps and Vietnamese behind me. I look for a dumpster, found one, big and green. I lift the lid up and hide my meal ticket before the three Vietnamese guys could see it. The mescaline might now be on a pile of garbage bags, but it looks like it took most of my Spirit Energy along for the ride. I can't even summon a weak shotgun energy blast, and if it comes to fists, one submachine gun or one hatchet and I'm fucked.

They're approaching me…shit. All three in their early 20s, one has a shaved head, another has long black hippie hair, the third one is Hiei sized and got a black buzzcut haircut. Baldie is wearing a white sleeveless shirt, a gold chain, black track pants, and an unzipped red and blue striped track jacket. Hippie got a sky blue leisure shirt and brown cargo pants. Viet-Hiei got a black sleeveless shirt, almost see through, and sky blue jeans. All three have some weird plastic thing on their heads and are holding machetes…great, time to defend my kidneys.

"Ey you!" Viet-Hiei yells. The three get close and I think those plastic hats are Halloween masks of some guy. "Yeah you!" Hippie guy yells, pointing his machete at me. I say "What you want? Can't a guy whiz in peace?" Baldie says "We need a fourth guy for a hold-up, you in?" What? Who the fuck recruits random people off the street for a hold up? I say "Piss off."

I didn't see Viet-Hiei stick his machete between my thighs. Oh crap. Viet-Hiei hisses "I got this machete sharped up so nice, I can shave your balls clean off if I just accidently sneeze. You in. That wasn't a question." "Relax guys, relax…" I say. Looks like someone here got pissed off that I went straight to drug dealing and skipped the tutorial armed robbery level.

Hippie guy pats me down for weapons, finds my pack of cigs, takes them out, opens the pack, closes it and sticks the pack back in my pocket, and then says "He ain't packing." Baldie pulls some kind of mask out of his jacket and tosses it to me. I catch it and take a look at the plastic face of Astro Boy. They want me to rob a shop…as Astro Boy. The three Vietnamese guys pull down their masks, looks like the Prime Minister of Thailand, that guy that I saw in the papers. Thaksin I think…Thaksin Shinawatra, yeah him.

Viet-Hiei says "We taking down the liquor store round the back. You work the register, we raid the place. Take this switchblade." He tosses me a switchblade and I flick the blade out. Hippie laughs and says "Ours are bigger." Yeah very funny, asshole. If I only got some food in me, I could floor these pricks.

Viet-Hiei finally lowers his machete and pulls it away from my balls. Phew, that was close. Baldie forces the Astro Boy mask on my face as hippie pushes my back. I take a quick look at the dumpster and try to remember the run down windows of the motel right above it. This is happening, I'm about to take down my first liquor store. Here's hoping the owner is the only guy in Roanapur stupid enough to not carry heat.

The awning over the place says "Suparman's Fortress." Good thing that's a common Indonesian name, otherwise I'd be in for a real showdown. Here it goes, Astromeshi versus Suparman, battle for the cash register. With Thaksin Shinawatra in my corner. And I'm barely an hour awake. Okay, I got an idea.

I walk through the front door, probably looking like a doofus in my mask, and yell "Alright this is a raid! Move and I'll cut your neck!" No one here but the old Indonesian man in the blue t-shirt and the black cargo shorts. Please don't be packing, please don't be packing. Good, he raises his hands, reeling back. Away from the counter. Phew.

The three shades of Thaksin Shinawatra funnel in and yell "We got machetes!" I hear them go to work on the shelves as I eye at the rack of cigarette cases behind the old man. Nice, they got Parliaments. Oh wait, robbery, yeah. I say "Register man, you know the drill." He yells "Please don't stab! I have a family!" Then you are a dumbass for opening a liquor store here.

He starts emptying bhat onto the counter as Hippie Shinawatra walks past me. Hippie got glass handles of Bacardi rum in his left hand, his machete in his right. Please don't be packing, old man.

I drive my switchblade into the back of Hippie's neck, the guy getting a scream out before he gurgles and bleeds all over my right hand. Rum shatters and splashes on my boat shoes. I leave the switchblade buried in Hippie's neck and quickly grab his falling machete. Okay, now we're talking.

Viet-Hiei yells "You fucking bastard! Hao, cut this shithead!" Baldie tosses a handle of vodka at my head, I dodge it and hear it smash against the cigarette rack. Suparman yells "Stop smashing up my store! Just take the money!" Hao runs up to me and swings his machete at my head. I easily duck down and let him slash apart cases of John Dewars. I use my chance to drive my machete into his upper chest, plant my right foot back, lean back, and uppercut him with such force that he flies across the aisle and tips over a shelf, creating a loud crash full of expensive spilt liquor and broken glass.

"My store! This is even worse!" Suparman yells, pulling out the few remaining grey hairs he woke up with. Given that these idiots could only carry, what, two cases each, plus the, what, 1,000 bhat in the register, this is probably worse. But, too bad, tough, these dickheads have pissed me off. This city has pissed me off. And Suparman can go pound sand for all I care.

Viet-Hiei glares at me like he just shit his pants and doesn't want to admit it. He drops the glass bottle of Johnny Walker and yells "You win! Let me go!" He runs to the front entrance, opens the door, and gets side-kicked in the chest by someone wearing jeans and cowboy boots, going flying and…yep, smashes the tequila rack. I turn to see the new guy.

Kurama! You're sober! And you still got the backpack with our passports! Why the fuck are you wearing a sleeveless, sideless leather vest with fake flashy diamond squares glued onto it?! With no shirt underneath?! Why do you still have that flat cap?! Why do you look like Shawn Michaels?!

S.M. Shuichi Minamino. My brain just blew up.

"OUT! EVERYONE OUT!" Suparman yells. Astro Boy just kicked your ass. Like Inoki and Ali. Score one for Japan. I say "Kurama, I'd say thanks for the assist, but I gotta first say, nice vest, very…eh…interesting. Not going to help us convince the people here that we ain't fucking." Kurama sighs and says "Follow me, I will explain." One thing first, Heartbreak Kitsune.

As we exit the store, I say to HBK "I stashed the money in a dumpster when these assholes were shadowing me. It's just behind the alley." Kurama sighs as we turn left and walk to the corner. Turning left again, passing a few stores, and then taking one more left into the back alley, I hear Kurama say "That money has caused us more grief then anything." I say "I ain't leaving more than 99 grand in the garbage, c'mon before someone dumpster dives."

I find the dumpster, open the lid, and there we go! Still there, still in good shape, just smells like hot garbage, smell should go away. I pull the bag out of the dumpster, okay at least it ain't got rotten eggs glued to it. I unzip and start counting…good, it's all here. I sling the duffle bag around my shoulders and turn to Kurama, saying "I'm starving, man. The mescaline and whisky hangover hit me hard. Saw a place to eat?" Kurama nods and says "A Mexican restaurant two streets toward the coast. After yesterday's experiment, I normally would not consider, but the restaurant openly assured in signage that their food is 'free of illicit chemicals, vermin, and human flesh'." I nod and say "Alright sounds good."

We exit the alleyway and turn left, heading in the direction of the docks again. Crossing the first of two streets, I ask "Alright, why you looking like Shawn Michaels from WWF?" "Who? Where?" Kurama asks, giving me a raised eyebrow. I rephrase "Where you got the outfit?" Kurama sighs and says "A long and very bizarre tale. Perhaps we can discuss it over breakfast, yes? Needless to say, I found myself suffering from horrifically bizarre hallucinations. And you said something about mescaline?" I say "That crazy blonde bitch spiked our whisky with mescaline. I call bets on that being the bottle that Bao gave for your 'civic duty'." Kurama grimaces and says "Of course, I should have known. I apologize for my behavior last night." Heh. "Not your fault," I say.

I ask "You familiar with mescaline, right? It being plants and shit." Kurama frowns and says "Hallucinogenic cacti juice, that is the extent of my knowledge. Until last night, at the least." Approaching the next intersection, I start chuckling. Laughing, I say and try to copy his voice "Hello, I'm Shuichi Minamino. I enjoy baseball, gardening, and occasional cocaine." Fox boy immediately says "Please do not tell anyone. I beg of you, not Shiori, not Kuwabara, not Keiko. I already have much to be embarrassed of in the past 24 hours." I say "Yeah, like I really want to tell Keiko that I sold crank, wrecked a Russian mobster's ride, tripped on mescaline, and almost got sodomized by Sadiq the Freak. Don't worry, Heartbreak Kitsune, what happens in Roanapur stays in Roanapur. It's like Vegas or the gym showers." "What?" Kurama blurts out. "A joke, man. Just bringing some levity. Wait, is this the place?"

I look up and see the name of the restaurant. 'Oaxaca!' Alright, from my experience with Puto!, the exclamation mark is getting me worried. Ah fuck it, can't be worse than street food.

We step in, and damn, place looks pretty nice. Rocking some photos of guys in ponchos with guns, got some Aztec statues hanging around, some lucha libre masks, almost like a collection on the wall, and giant photos of Mexican soccer players in action. I see a few green jerseys hanging on the ceiling, yeah this place would do nice. Nice enough not to give me rat meat.

I approach the wooden counter and see an old balding Mexican guy in a white sleeveless shirt and grey pants lifted up with suspenders. Guy has a thick white moustache and is standing in front of a giant chalkboard with the menu scribbled on.

Mexican guy turns to us and says "Welcome to Oaxaca! Nice vest, hombre. What can I get you?" I look up and down the menu. I look at the side of the menu titled 'Especiales De Hoy.' I ask "Run me through…that part of the menu."

Old guy says "First, we got the 'No Me Llames Cerdo', for $11 even. A jumbo burrito, with standard rice, black beans, crema, lettuce, tomatoes, and then eight strips of bacon, three slices of ham, three slices of capocollo, and three slices of German speck." So it's back to my community college cafeteria days. I ask "What's…the one below that?" The old guy laughs and says "Oh that? That's called 'Échale Más Fruta a la Piñata' for $17 even. Two jumbo burritos, each with standard rice, refried beans, crema, guacamole, Cheese Whiz, mayo, two fried buffalo chicken tenders, three strips of bacon, French fries, and one slab of Spam. Very popular with local Bob Marley fans and tourists from America, Polynesia, and Saudi Arabia."

Okay I am not fucking eating that. I ask "And next?" Old guy says "The Oaxaca Mystery Special. Where I give you a mystery of choice and you give me an answer. This year's mystery is: 'Who murdered Enrique Salinas?' If you say pass, it will be the standard chicken burrito at the same $9 price. If you say 'Enrique Salinas', you will get the standard chicken burrito at the price of $12. If you get creative, I will give you a meat ranging from carnitas to filet mignon and lobster tail. I track the answers and rank them. Best answer at the end of the month wins three free burritos."

"Who the hell is Enrique Salinas? And who the fuck would play this kind of game?" I ask. Seriously, this is some twilight zone crap. Old guy says "You would be surprised what kind of answers I get from people entering at 3 A.M. in the morning high off peyote and Russian Krokodil heroin. And Enrique Salinas is a Mexican businessman found strangled in his car outside Mexico City, brother of the Mexican president from 12 years ago. Last year we did 'Who shot JFK?' Winning prize went to a local meth head who legitimately thought I was accusing him, who then later cried and confessed on this very floor, and then proceeded to slowly disembowel himself with a plastic knife all while singing 'Surfing Bird' by the Trashman in a poorly attempted Samoan accent. He then bled to death just by that array of luchador masks. I just had to give him the award."

Okay. Moving on. Yeah.

I ask "And that last one for $40?" Old man laughs and says "That's 'El Presidente'. El Cubano sandwich with ham, smoked turkey, roasted pork, double layer of Swiss cheese, pickles, stone ground mustard, and a mostly fresh Presidente cigar straight from Santiago de Cuba. One of the local power brokers here, she loves to order that one." Okay, I like that. "Yesterday didn't exactly go as planned, so I think I'll live it up today. The El Presidente, with a glass of water, trying to dry up today." Old guy snaps his fingers, smiles, and yells "You got it, El Presidente!" Okay, gotta admit, that feels pretty badass. For the first time since I tried the local street meat, I feel good and in charge. I like this shit, yeah.

Kurama steps up to the plate. Old man asks "And you, Mr. Vest?" Kurama sighs and says "Do you serve any actual breakfast?" Old man nods and says "Huevos rancheros, classic style, and a huevos rancheros enchilada. Both $7." Kurama says "Huevos rancheros, classic variant, and a glass of water." Old man says "That's $47 dollars total."

I reach into my duffle bag and pull out a $50 bill, and I give the old man a look that screams 'Don't ask any unnecessary questions'. Old man says "Órale, a $50. One second." He takes a marker and draws a line on the $50. Probably everyone in this crap-hole has to do that, one hand on a counterfeit bill marker and another on a sawed off.

Getting a little nervous, I reach into my duffle bag and pull out another Grant. I hand it to him and say "Here, a tip. Keep the other three bucks too." Old man stares at the first Grant, scans the marks he left, frowns, nods as if he is impressed, and says 'Gracias, my friends. I will have the food right up. Vitor! Huevos rancheros clásico y EL PRESIDENTE!" A guy from the back whistles and goes to work, as Kurama and I take a seat near the counter, sitting on dark wooden chairs and a dark laminated wooden table. I like this place.

Turning to Kurama, who's resting his left arm on the table and pressing his chin on his right hand, like that statue of that guy pondering the mysteries of the universe while taking a shit, I ask in Japanese "So, fox boy, give me the rundown of what a drunk, coked out, mescaline tripping Kitsune does at night?" Kurama sighs and says "Following my escape from that insane blonde woman, I suddenly realized that something was not quite…proper. My vision…strained, and altered, I suddenly was set upon by a swarm of bats with Hiei's head on them. I immediately elongated my rose whip while I was set upon by the bats, screeching into my ears, I was certain my ear drums would burst."

Pfft, what? I laugh with a stupid look on my face as Kurama continues "I proceeded to drive the bats away, and then was suddenly set upon by four Chinese men in pinstripe suits, complaining about a drunk causing a commotion in the back of their brothel. It was at this point that I realized, that I shredded two dumpsters, a fire escape, and a hatchback sedan into pieces with my rose whip. As they realized the source of the disturbance, they suddenly morphed into members of the Spirit Defense Force, and in my state, I morphed into my pure Kitsune form, scurrying off as a fox. I eventually, through the poisons in my veins, stumbled into a…of all places…a costume store. I reverted to a bipedal form, this instance as Yoko Kurama. In my high and intoxicated stupor, I saw fit to adorn myself with cowboy boots, replacing my earlier shoes, a plastic black armor breastplate over my bare chest, black elbow pads, and a black diamond shaped eye mask for both eyes, essentially becoming The Comedian from the Watchman comic books."

What the fuck man?! Kurama continues, and I ain't planning on stopping him "I then discovered a false wall, knocked it down, and found an array of crossbows, longbows, and Chiquita bananas of various states of decay pinned to a wall. I noticed a large vacuum cleaner on the floor, and I draped the heavy vacuum canisters around my back. I exited the false wall, switched the vacuum on, and suddenly the entire store was engulfed by a burning, caustic haze. I immediately fled, still adorned in my attire, still armed with my vacuum cleaner. I stumbled forward in a haze, as ogres and bird demons flocked away in fear of my approach. Eventually, I reached a pier, in which I came to witness two ogres and two ice demons worshiping the largest snake I have even seen in my life, at least in Human World. A thirty meter long and three meter wide behemoth capable of swallowing every man in its wake. I attempted to have the snake swallowed by my vacuum cleaner in turn, triggering another haze of smoke, this one creating a skunk-like odor. The ogres and ice demons approached and fired crossbows at my vicinity, bursting a canister and causing great discomfort on my back. I removed the vacuum cleaner and the plastic breastplate, fleeing the scene as a loud retort thundered behind me. Eventually, I stumbled into an alleyway and hear a beating, thundering noise from behind a back door. I pushed through the door and collapsed, falling asleep."

"That explains the boots. Where the hell you got that vest, Edward Blake?" I say. Old man shows up with glasses of water for both of us. I sip, damn feels good to rehydrate. Old man asks "What language is that?" Kurama says "Japanese." Old man says "Ah, okay." He returns to the counter and starts tapping his fingers on the counter to some beat I don't know. The Shibuya Tokyo Kid says in Japanese "I awoke on the floor of a dimly lit underground arena. I found myself shirtless, in my new boots, with my jeans and my flat cap, surrounded by intoxicated locals, intoxicated African tourists, and intoxicated Western European tourists, all around me in a crude circle. An Australian individual spoke into a microphone and announced me as 'Weird Drunk From Outside with Pink Backpack'. Then, a tall Japanese male with a black mullet, thick black eyebrows, and an unusually muscular body entered the circle, announced as 'Asian Schwarzenegger'. He walked up to me, pointed his right index finger, and stated in Japanese that I was already deceased. I snapped my left leg into his abdomen and ruptured his liver, sending him into convulsions."

So the Comedian Break Kid took out Kenshiro. Astro Boy took out Suparman. Score is 1-1.

Kurama continues "Then, as I prepared to leave, I was unceremoniously shoved back into the circle by a Caucasian man with spiky black hair, an Italian accent, and an orange gi. I snapped my left leg into his abdomen and ruptured his liver, sending him into convulsions." And Goku. 2-1 Uncle Sam. Fox boy's on a roll here. Kurama continues "And then a blond Caucasian male with a scruffy chin and sunglasses, dressed in a green leisure shirt and beige slacks, wandered drunkenly into the circle, swearing in Irish accented English. I mistook him for a combatant, snapped my left leg into his abdomen, and ruptured his liver, tore his solar plexus, and hemorrhaged his diaphragm, sending him into convulsions. Then I finally was given leave to exit the circle."

I'll rule that a DQ and give Japan the W. I wave my right hand so Kurama could continue. He says "I approached the Australian man for the location of my rucksack with our passports. He directed me to a tall, bald, and admittedly rather handsome Western European looking individual, whom I later learned secured my rucksack from the elderly female Thai racketeer that owned the business. Apparently he gambled on my name and won quite a fortune, and thus sought to return his gratitude. At first I assumed he was one of the racketeer's henchmen, and thus approached with an aggressive posture. He then smiled, beckoned me to lower my guard, and returned the rucksack with our passports. He then clarified his lack of association with the racketeer and his newfound profits from gambling on myself, speaking in either German or Dutch accented English. Lastly, he complemented me on the form and execution of my liver kicks and wished me a good day. Charming fellow."

"And that still doesn't explain the vest," I say. Kurama looks at me in surprise and says "Oh, yes. My apologies. I found it outside a bar alleyway and claimed it for myself. It was either that or the urine-stained U.S. Marine Corp combat vest lying nearby." Wait what? Okay…

The old man yells out "We are out of ham! Is grilled chicken breast okay?!" I say "Yeah, sure, I'm cool. What happened, the Bob Marley fans got the munchies?" Old man laughs, turns to the kitchen and yells "Pollo es bueno, Vitor!" He turns back to us and says "Oh and they had company. Half of Roanapur, because some crazy Asian guy with long white hair and a flamethrower interrupted a weed deal between the 'Ndrangheta and a group of Maori bikers."

"What?!" Kurama freaks out as I start to put the pieces to…oh damn. The old man says "Yeah, no kidding. This crazy Asian comes out with a flamethrower, like U.S. military grade from the Viet Civil War. He jumps into this deal between the 'Ndrangheta and the Maori bikies, freaks out at the giant carpet and cellophane wrapped tube of marijuana, and sets the chingada on fire, man. Everyone from the docks to the downtown got more stoned then a biblical execution."

Kurama's facial expression says it all. And it seems that fox boy is barely a dozen hours removed from lighting the world's largest blunt. And I was sleeping through that, that blonde bitch.

Kurama asks "Maori…bikers?" Old man chuckles and says "Oh yeah, one of those street gangs from New Zealand. They even got swastikas tattooed on their necks, don't ask why. Scary people." "What is the 'Ndrangheta? Just wondering," I say, trying to keep the old guy from suspecting Kurama for that crap. Old man says "An Italian mafia organization, from Southern Italy. Calabria, I think." I ask "So, they, what, like the Cosa Nostra?" Old man laughs and says "They make the Cosa Nostra look like a small town police department in Western Germany. Carajo, I think the 'Ndrangheta even make up, what…10 percent of Italy's GDP? Something like that."

So I now got a beef with the underboss of the Russian mafia over fucking up his Lexus. Fox boy here got a beef with…the old man continues "I heard that the burnt weed was worth over 12 million dollars. No wait…euros."

Kurama got a beef with 10% of Italy's GDP, the unfriendly 10%, and a gang of Maori bikers. A beef over 12 million euros worth of lit up weed.

We got problems.

"Food's almost ready boys. You want your cigar now?" old man asks. I say "Yeah, sure." I sound like I just ordered my last meal. Nah, wait a minute Yusuke. You're half Mazoku. Okay, sounds like I just ordered my last meal before I blow up half of Southeast Asia and King Yama sends every single asshole he has under his command to kill me, again. Much better.

I turn to Kurama, whose face is so blank that his lips are parallel to the table. I say in Japanese "12 million euros, not bad. I usually light up, what, 3000 yen worth of the stuff? A month, by the way. Well, I hope it was the Buddha bud, man."

I think his eyebrows twitched. I continue "So, the 'Ndrangheta and swastika wearing Maori bikers. And Russian mobsters slash ex. Russian Special Forces guys. Let's see who else we get to piss off before we leave. Oh yeah, King Yama and Koenma. God him-fucking-self." "Yusuke," Kurama blankly says. "Yeah?" I reply.

"Shut up."

Sounds like a struck a few nerves there. Alright, I'll lay off.

Cuban sandwich arrives. I look at it. Looks good. Smell it. Smells good. Taste it. Yep, at least it pretends to taste like the real thing. Ah Cuba, you and your rum, baseball players, and pressed sandwiches. Almost makes me forget about all that communism.

Kurama slowly goes through his huevos rancheros. I watch him sop up the refried beans with a piece of tortilla. He goes to work on his water. Wiping his lips, he says in Japanese "So, I believe I have a pl-hiccup!" I start snickering as he tightens his grip on the glass of water so hard that it's about to shatter, hiccupping every few seconds. I say "Now didn't Shiori teach you not to eat so fast?"

Okay, I'm backing off. Kurama gave me the death glare. I don't like the death glare. No me gusta death glare.

We get a few meters away from the restaurant, Kurama hiccupping all quietly, like a squirrel drowning in a bathtub. Or a sea louse, if those antenna fuckers can speak.

Kurama says "I propose that hic we part ways and find a means to escape by hic sea." He's boiling alright. I say "So you giving up on the Botan call?" Kurama says "No. I am placating you-hic. If it was myself, I would hic not have even set foot in the airport. As for that, may hic I take the watch? In case I encounter trouble." He's pointing at my Spirit Detective watch, which I slipped on in the toilet. Comes with a pager for the grim reaper herself. If only it got Tetris.

I say "Nice try, fox boy. I'm keeping the watch." Kurama groans and says "Then I will hold on hic to our passports, if you wish to play that hic. Damn this." Heartbreak Kurama snarls and adds "I will seek out the bars for a hic contractor with a vessel. At 7 P.M., we will converge at the hic park with the water fountain, in Downtown. Roanapur Park, plainly titled. There is a public restroom where we may speak in hic private."

A public fucking restroom, ey? I say "Kurama, man, a park shitter? Not sure that's going to help with the whole 'we ain't gay' shtick." I do the finger air quotes on the 'we ain't gay' part. He growls and turns around, saying "7 P.M. Please do not cause any trouble." "Here's looking at you, Heartbreak Kid. Haha," I reply, as Kurama just growls and then hiccups, causing him to yell "DAMN THIS!"


	3. What Do The Five Fingers Say?

"So the distance will not be a concern, correct?" I ask, in English, to the Thai male in his early 40s, slightly graying short black hair combed forward, thick black chin stubble, and a cleft chin, dressed in a dark blue and grey plaid buttoned shirt and light grey denim jeans. He replies in Thai accented English "I will need to be reimbursed for fuel, but no. I have experience with coast guards before, and Cambodia's is a joke. Personally, I recommend the Philippines, less dangerous for a tourist then Cambodia. And they speak much better English there."

The Thai male, Sutham Namwong, drinks greedily from his mug of Singha beer. The Drunken Elephant bar is a much more cramped locale, compared to the Yellow Flag. Hardly enough room for a bar counter and four tables. Our only source of light stems from the opened upper shutters by the entrance wall, rays of sunlight illuminating all in its path. I raise my mug of Sapporo beer to my lips, drink my share, wipe my lips with my left wrist, and ask "Which city do you suggest?" Sutham nods and says "Manila, my red haired friend. Manila would do."

I raise my mug in approval and say "Then perhaps we can draw up a contract." Sutham drinks from his mug, sets it down, and states "$17,500, plus reimbursement for fuel. American currency, in cash. I know you have unwanted attention, so I must be compensated accordingly. I not sure of how unwanted the attention, and I don't wish to learn." "What do you know of so far?" I ask, studying him meticulously. He sighs and says "A dispute with a local cop and a Hotel Moscow affiliate. They only harm independent contractors, such as myself, if I stand between you and them. A few days of hell, I can endure." "$15,000" I reply. To be frank, I have no interest in my share. Rather, I must not seem desperate, lest I tempt Sutham a chance to exploit. He sighs and says "I offered you $17,500 as I tire of haggling. And since you offer intelligent conversation, rare to find here." I say "You flatter me. Very well, your honeyed words strike gold. $17,500 it is." I would have agreed to $100,000, with some back and forth, had he started from such a usury price.

We set our mugs down and prepare to shake, a ritual with promise of safety and profit. Sutham suddenly cups our hands with his left, a queer act that oscillates from respect to deception. I conceal my frown, as a dark skinned South Asian woman, adorned in a blue and white polka dot collared, buttoned shirt, grey jeans stained in mud, black and white sneakers, her face peppered in pock marks, her eyes bloodshot, her long black hair tied in a ponytail, saunters inside, her arm movements highly animated in contrast to her stroll.

Sutham and myself turn to eye her, the bartender suddenly stepping into the rear of the bar. She props herself on the stool to the right of Sutham, rests her right shoulder on the counter, flashes an intoxicated, methamphetamine fueled smile, and yells "WHAT DOES THE FIVE FINGERS SAY TO THE FACE?!"

"Eh?!" Sutham exclaims, both of us out of our element.

"STAB!" the woman yells as she plunges a concealed serrated knife into Sutham's neck and what remained of my optimism. Sutham falls off the stool, knife still in his neck, as the lunatic claims his seat without a bat of an eye. "Yomi's horns, why did you do that?!" I yell, my left hand buried in my crimson mane.

Expecting the glint of serrated steel, I am confronted with her sweaty fingers rubbing against my exposed chest. You have got to be kidding me.

Her fingers and her wandering diluted pupils invading my personal space as she rapidly speaks in Thai-accented English "Hello my name is Ulagammal but you can call me sweet pea tetty zee and well I been hearing about a slim sexy Japanese guy who cooks yummy ice and I want to kiss the cook and think we can have many romantic walks with you and me and all the crystal you make for me cause I will fuck you till you will love me and we don't got to start strong now we can first do nothing weird just rub our toes and check out the farmer's market and then we move to second base which is the Das Vegas Casino run by the Chinese bigshot Zhang who thinks Amsterdam is a sex position and the casino is full of those god-awful Australian Tywin Lannister impersonators who rob that man of his dignity and that man died on the shitter so that ain't an easy task…" Dear God! Is that…are those herpes sores?!

The lunatic continues "Let's talk about formations I like the 3-5-2 formation let's talk about positions I like to say my Hail Marys do you want to see my chest tattoo I like my chest tattoo do you like Ajax Amsterdam I like Ajax Amsterdam yelelele de keeper van Den Haag van Den Haag van Den Haag. De keeper van Den Haag die heeft un dildo in z'n maag I mean c'mon I don't get apparently having season tickets to Ajax Amsterdam does not give me birthright to Israel that is a conundrum with no stigmata that I cannot decipher as to just WHEN I THOUGHT I WAS IN, THEY THREW ME BACK OUT!" I am very confused, and Sutham's corpse is starting to attract fruit flies.

'Ulagammal' continues "So what you say you be mine and I will call you precious and you will be my precious my precious my…" She suddenly coughs out a wad of brown flem onto Sutham's corpse. I lie "I…I…I am marr-I have gonorrhea!" She replies "Awesome, me too!"

I glance at Sutham's corpse, watching the blood pool around his neck. I sigh, having enjoyed his conversation. And so, I do what any reasonable man would do in this situation.

I climb off my stool and proceed to the exit.

I feel resistance and turn around. Ulagammal grabs my left ankle, crying out "Wait please I'll let you suck my cock!" !

I pull my foot out of her grasp as a ribbed red plastic device flashes horrifyingly in my Kitsune skull. I exit the front door, sighing. I turn right and let the cool breeze brush against my cheeks. Perhaps contacting Botan is the answer after all. Fool, I should have done so from the start. Oh well, there are other ship captains in this wretched port, pining for paper gold and a reputation for smuggling wanted men from the strangling grasp of violent narcotic cartels.

"That's the fuckhead!" I hear from the back, American-accented English…no, possibly Canadian. I turn around and find a Western European seeming individual with bushy black hair, a golden Catholic cross, blue jeans, brown boat shoes, a short sleeved white t-shirt with a logo of the cast of the 'Full Metal Panic!' cartoon. He presses a stun gun to my neck. I feel the jolt of shock before I could react. Damn you…

I stir, my ears ringing from the sound of rotating fans…I feel a thin floor at my feet, moving rapidly. I am flying…no, a helicopter. My hands are bound by cable wire, my neck sore. I look up, staring at the rather short Western European looking male standing over me. He sports wavy, black hair, uncombed and sticking up as if due to electrical static. He has a rough moustache and chin hairs, flanked by flecks of black hair that survived a haphazard attempt at shaving. He is wearing dirty grey jeans and a ragged, yellow t-shirt that is written in black lettering 'Longshoreman of the Month, April. Fraser River Port Authority.' The man speaks in a harsh, nasally, Canadian-accented English "Check it out, Billy Cocksucking Joel's awake. What, not enough Maui bud to keep you napping, you stupid motherfucker?!"

Standing in front of the cockpit seats, the bearded man is armed with rope fastened into a noose. Flying the helicopter is a short haired Southeast Asian seeming male in his late 20s, with short black hair, sunglasses, a grey leisure shirt, and blue jeans. On my left, seated on a bench, is the cretin that stunned me unconscious. I sigh under my breath, and prepare to draw Koenma's ire.

The Southeast Asian pilot asks in Vietnamese-accented English "Hey Martin, this far enough?" The bearded man, Martin, replies "You want to give the fucking coast guard a free show? Further! I want Roanapur to look like a fucking dingle-berry on an elephant!" Charming. Martin turns to the cretin that stunned me and says "Orlandi, get this noose on Mr. Fahrenheit, I want a good view of when his fuckhead skull gets pulled out of his shitcan body. You ever watched Scarface, tie dye? I'm talking to you, you stupid fucking fuck! You know how much weed you burnt out, you and your menstruating twat of a haircut?!" It appears I came in contact with 10% of Italy's gross domestic product. Joy.

As Orlandi ties the noose around my neck, Martin kneels to me and speaks, spitting as he talks "I fucking asked if you ever watched Scarface! Cause if you did, you'd remember the part where that stupid red haired fuck that burnt all the weed gets thrown out of the a fucking helicopter with a noose on his neck and his legs dangling over the Gulf of Thailand! Cause that part happened! Director's cut, asshole!" Orlandi tightens the noose, how bothersome.

"This good now?!" the pilot asks. Martin turns to him and yells "I told you this is fucking good now!" "Uh, boss…" the Vietnamese pilot stampers. "Yeah?!" Martin asks. "Nothing," the pilot responds, weighing the possibility that his employer could execute the only one capable of flying this aircraft. Sigh, seems I must shift to Yoko the Bandit King on my own accord.

"The fuck…" Orlandi mutters and possibly soils himself, as I shift to Yoko himself. I calmly pull my hands apart and snap the cable bindings, and then reach for the rose in my mane. Martin stares at me and says "Okay, I think my blow got cut with shrooms or some shit…" "ROSE WHIP!" I lash the whip at the pilot, piercing through his neck and the front glass window. "Holy fuckballs!" Martin yells, as I pull the whip back, the helicopter losing control. Tearing the noose apart with my hands, I leap from the helicopter, fall rapidly toward the Gulf of Thailand. Mercifully I have gliding wings to soften my fall and avoid saltwater in my mane.

I slow my descent with my 'wings' as the helicopter spins under my falling body, the screams of Orlandi fading away in an amusing demonstration of the Doppler effect. I feel a heavy weight on my right leg…now both legs. I peer down…err…more so at my legs. Appears Martin is hanging on to dear life. Sigh, oh well. At least I can prove to Koenma that I lacked malicious intent.

I dip my head lower and yell "Grasp for my waist!" Martin does so, stabilizing his grasp, panting frantically. He yells "Oh Jesus! Thank you! Fucking fucking thank you! I'm so fucking sorry, man! I'm so sorry!" At least he is remorseful. And the view is rather lovely…I spot the docks where Yusuke sold that block of foul methamphetamine to that imbecilic Songxie Tong.

"Oh sweet holy fuck, thanks! I've been wrong. Jesus Christ I been wrong. Thank you!" the Italian-Canadian mobster cries out in amusing bliss. "Please, man, please forgive me man, holy fuck!" he continues, crossing into the dominion of annoyance. To quiet him down, I proceed to hum tunelessly as we glide at a leisurely pace. I drift to song…hmm…ahh those damned music videos.

"Skyway flew the danger zone…something flew the danger zone…" I think I got it close. "What? Jesus man!" Martin mutters. He is uncomfortable…good. I continue "Sailing into twilight, spreading out her legs…wings tonight, she has you skipping on the top deck, and…falling into rear drive…damn this…"

We land, rather roughly, Martin scrapping his knees on the concrete dock edge. I hum "Skyway flew the danger zone…" He turns to my person, as I retract my 'wings'. On his knees, he cries out "Oh Jesus Christ thank you, thank you! I'll reform, I'll be good!" Yes, yes, very well. His eyes wet with bliss, Martin declares "I'll be spreading the good word, J-C, I'll say my prayers and stop eating my vitamins! Tell the big man upstairs I'll be a new Martin Zappala Rzewski!" Oh. Oh dear.

This violent mobster believes I am Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

I say "Yes…yes, do so." I struggle to retain my laughter. I wonder, does impersonating Koenma counts as blasphemy? Martin asks "So it's true what they say in the good book, right?" I sigh and say "Yes, yes." I put on a façade of disinterest, masking my great amusement in this turn of events. Martin slightly calms down and says "Got to be honest, wasn't expecting you to be Asian. Kinda mind blowing really…no offense." I reply "Knowledge is ignorance's bane..." Martin's eyes light up as he asks "Is that in Romans? Matthew?" I stutter and recall to my days as a hedge knight in Medieval Eastern Europe…man is likely Catholic…so…Krakow's clergy then…

I speak "It belonged to a long lost verse in Athenians II." I mask my exhale of relief as he accepts the nonsense I spoke of. He says "Holy shit…my pardons Jesus. I did not know there was an Athenians II…or an Athenians I. So…Roman Catholic is cool?" I sigh and say "It is cool." "Latin Church?" he asks. I say "Fine." "The Archdiocese of Vancouver?" he pesters further. I say "Sure." "St. Cecilia's Cathedral in Mount Pleasant that's next to the Best Buy and the KFC, with Father Kincaid the priest with the missing leg and the eyes that went blind from chlamydia? That good?" I reply "Why not?" And with that, I proceed on my merry way, my silvery hair swaying in the breeze. Martin yells "Thank you J-C! I won't let you down, man!"

Exiting the docks proper, I take one step onto the sidewalk, and suddenly hear someone speak in a New Zealand accent "Oi, that ain't no fucking wharfie. That's that minger that rooted our grass." I turn around and come within inches of a large, overweight Maori dressed in a white sleeveless shirt, a black sleeveless leather vest peppered in various patches of bulldog heads in biker helmets, swastikas, and other round badges, blue jeans, and brown boots. He is sporting spiky, greyish white hair and a thick greying beard, no moustache, his skin a light brown, a scar over his left eyebrow. His face is canvased in dark blue colored tattoos. A patch above his heart reads 'Ngata, Chapter Vice President'. Another patch above the naval reads '7th Annual Auckland Necrophilia Orgy Champion'. He reeks of foul beer. The biker pockets the cellphone without speaking another word.

Very well, I will let him take the initiative. I ask "Who are you?" The biker replies "The bloke that's going to fuck up your sodding mug!" He reaches into his leather jacket and draws a…oh dear. I flee as he fires from a silvery colored pistol. I run across the street, toward an alleyway, how is this imbecile able to keep up with that glutinous mass? Must I kill him too?

I stumble over a bearded white Western European looking vagrant laughing hysterically at the sky. He is oblivious to the gunfire behind me…oh dear! A bullet sails over my head…I turn left…a dumpster to the left of a back alley door. I knock furiously on the door, preparing to kick it down. Damn this…well I'd imagine I've gotten past simple courtesies with this infernal city. I kick the door down, and immediately receive a wooden blow to the chin, knocking me to my feet.

I wake up, I'd imagine a second later…appears I awoke from the impact of my head against the concrete alley floor. I look up, head throbbing…an overweight Thai male in a police inspector uniform, with faint black stubble over his pointy chin. His chest badges and chevrons suggest a high rank, I can barely see his name tag…Watsup. He is armed with a shotgun adorned with a wooden stock.

I suddenly feel a boot on my chest. The Maori biker peers over me, argh…stomping my chest. He yells "Last time a shitface fucks with Morgan Ngata and the Aotearoa crew! Say goodnight, you sodding ranga!"

I hear 'Watsup' eject a perfectly fine shotgun shell and yell in Thai accented English "Put down your gun." Morgan Ngata yells "Go bugger yourself with that 12 gauge!" Watsup coolly replies "If you can recognize this uniform, you would change your tune, you fucking cannibal." Ngata's gaze switches to Watsup. The Maori frowns and says "Alright mate, we can work something out…" Watsup cracks the stock of the shotgun against Morgan Ngata's chin, sending the lumbering mass face forward through the doorway, landing painfully on my ankles.

Watsup walks over Morgan and approaches me, whispering "Let your weary eyes rest, my sweet Jap." Eh? The stock of the shotgun retracts, and then approa-oh stop! I blink…fading out of conscious…

I am in a tuxedo, my hands bound with rope. I am tied to a wooden chair, the walls around me bleach white. No windows, only a steel grey door in the far corner.

I blink, and Hiei is standing on a five meter wide stage, a microphone in his right hand. He is dressed in a denim shirt, a denim jacket, denim jeans, a denim tie, denim boots, and a denim bandana for his Jagan eye. He speaks "I was a caesarean-section boy, but it is difficult to tell. Though when I leave a building, I use the window." Eh? He continues, his tone quite listless and dry "My significant other sleeps on a queen-sized bed, I sleep on a tree branch-sized bed. It has plenty of foliage. When I stir awake, she asks if I slept well. I say 'No, I blundered twice.'" Heh, this reminds me of a Steven Wright stand up I once viewed on my computer.

The hall is completely silent, aside from my fidgeting, as I try to pull apart my bindings, and Hiei's emotionless parody of a balding, middle aged American with a caffeine deficit. Hiei speaks "I once passed through what you humans call airport security. They requested that I remove all metallic objects, so I crossed the checkpoint in my boxers." He yawns and continues "I was once asked if a male red-haired friend and myself were in love. I said 'Yes, we both love to dismember invasive humans with hacksaws'."

Oh dear, I snicker slightly. Hiei continues "I was disgusted by the rampant homeless, abundance of shitting crows, and dearth of quality meat in my neighborhood in Ueno, Tokyo, Japan. So I killed two birds and a South Korean war veteran with one sword." Oh…dear. Hiei sighs and says "Bicuriosity fucked the Kitsune, but for a while, I was the suspect. I was walking through Tokyo where I found a sign. It said 'Lost, two grandparents. If found dead in their apartment, just keep the deed'." Ha, I would not honestly put it past Hiei that that was what happened.

Argh, these bindings! It's as if they tighten as I struggle. Hiei dryly continues "Hermits have no peer pressure. It's a fine thing to know when solicited by a toothless hooker. '10,000 yen, 1 hour'. 'Hermits have no peer pressure'. 'What, are you gay?' 'If a fire demon falls off a tree branch, and no one is around to hear it, will you fuck off?' I was once flirted at by a schizophrenic. She said she loves me. I said 'No, your mind's just playing tricks on you'."

I blink, and I am on a small cruise ship, in the dining room, myself seated on the only chair by the only round table in the hall. I look behind and see the distant coast of Roanapur. I look in front and find Hiei and Kuwabara squatting next to a five meter wide stage, both dressed in black leather flat caps, dark blue Adidas tracksuits, and brown slippers, both having a cigarette in their mouths and a bag of sunflower seeds in their hands. On stage, is me, in my Yoko Kurama form. Except I seem to be wearing a Russian sea captain cap, a horizontally striped blue and white shirt, and black track pants. There is a bottle of Yamazaki whisky in Yoko Kurama's right hand, which he appears to be wielding as a microphone.

He appears like a Ukrainian sailor on shore leave. Yoko speaks in Russian "Moi imeni Yoko Kurama (My name is Yoko Kurama), e ya alkogolik iz Makai (and I am an alcoholic from Makai)." I turn left and Kuwabara is leaning against the open bar with an accordion, while Hiei flicks the strings of a balalaika. Yusuke, dressed in a navy tuxedo, plays a soprano saxophone as Yoko Kurama signs "Lyubil ya zverih raznih (I loved beasts of all sorts). Krasiveh y zaraznih (Beautiful and diseased)." I suddenly feel the burning sensation in my penis that I felt all those centuries ago, when that bastard kitchen hand shared his 'little gift' with me. "Nu zhopa ni otihskal (But ass was not found), alkogolik ya stahl (alcoholic I became)!"

"Bil u menya dehvki (In my possession were ladies). Bil u menya patsani (In my possession were gentlemen)." I had enough of this motley fever dream. "Mama, nalivaih (Mother, pour), a ya uzhe ni malchik (as I'm no longer a boy). Netu shashteh, na zemlei (There's no pleasure on this earth), e lyubvi vehd tozhe…net (and love also not, it seems)." I hop with the chair I'm bound to as I approach the deck. "Ah v lemoni y skazki (And in the lemons and stories), tolko yeble e pidarih (only fucking and faggots)."

I toss myself off the railing, prepared for the next set of dreams that are supposed to probe my inner psyche and emotional depth and are in no shape or form a collection of random nonsense.

I open my eyes, my hands are bound by rope to a chair.

There is a ball gag in my mouth.

And one in Morgan Ngata's mouth as well, also tied to a chair.

Oh for fuck's sake!

We are in a basement, a flickering lightbulb above our heads. The walls seem wooden, brown. Leaning against the desk, this rotund constable, apparently named 'Watsup', exchanges glances with a Cantonese-seeming male sporting long black hair parted at the forehead and stretching to just above the shoulders, clean-shaven and thin-headed, with a square chin. The Cantonese man is dressed in a charcoal suit with a white undershirt, also sporting a charcoal tie and brown alligator skin shoes. His aviator sunglasses rest on his forehead. Officer Watsup speaks in Thai-accented English "I did promise you that I have a live catch."

The Cantonese man replies in Chinese-accented English "Watsup, the last four times I arrived, they were either dead or dying. Forgive me if I didn't feel optimistic." Watsup growls and then says "That's because that asshole Praiyachat kept selling off buckshot rounds as 'less-then-lethal' rock salt. Less-then-lethal my ass. Good thing a buttstock is only lethal if you want it to be, ain't that right Biu?" Ngata mumbles under his ball-gag as saliva pools in my mouth. This is humiliating and foul.

Biu gestures at us and says "So, Watsup, who should we start with? I always fancied the rounder ones. More resistance, possibly with all the grease. A joke, a joke." What? Watsup growls and says "I finally keep them alive enough for you to get here and you start speaking philosophy? Pick one, they all look the same from behind. Sort of." Oh damn this.

Ngata turns to me, his eyes bulging in fear. He understands as well. I see him fidgeting and kicking about, to no end. Watsup and Biu just ignore us as they decide which of us to rape first. I believe I seen this scene before. Which means…oh dear. Biu sighs and gestures with his right hand "Shall we flip for it?"

Damn this place. Very well, I still have enough strength to tear free of my bindings, may as well see how they proceed. I look down and find lines of saliva that have landed on my 'vest'. I must look like a complete idiot in this costume and bindings. A coin is flipped. "Heads the cannibal, tails the Jap," Watsup announces. The coin lands. "Heads it is," Biu declares as Morgan Ngata throttles violently in his chair. A backhanded strike from Watsup dazes the Maori. The Thai constable lifts the legs of the Maori's chair as Biu brandishes a charcoal colored pistol with the word 'Glock' written along the side. He aims the pistol at Morgan's head and approaches a wooden door. Opening it, Biu waves Watsup and the captive Morgan inside, and then turns to me.

He is staring behind me. I tighten my wrists, prepared to snap apart my rope bindings and strangle the life out of these psychotic dregs of this foul, wretched city. Biu suddenly whistles. And announces "I'm leaving the ginger to you. Have fun." I hear grunting from behind. So Biu has brought his own little gimp as well, I see. Very well, I will delight in shattering his jaw as…

Sadiq Al-Khazouk?! With a severally swollen jaw, but in the flesh nonetheless. So in the flesh, that he stands shirtless and in black cargo pants, armed with another Vaseline smeared spear. Sadiq grins in ravenous delight and speaks "I only cried twice in my life. The first was when my sergeant put me in the camel clutch and fucked me in the ass. The second was when you shattered my spear." And I'm unsure if that even scratches the surface of the soup of psychological trauma that turned you into what you are today. In fact, I do not wish to know.

I simply stand silently, for I have already won this battle from the moment I woke up. Also, the ball gag rather hinders my ability to form coherent sentences. Very well, for all the venom that my tongue could spew, my mind is much more dangerous. Aside from that one instance in Tourin when I…err…perhaps a tale for another occasion.

Biu shifts his back leg into the doorway that Watsup and Ngata walked through. I hear muffled grunting and swearing, and I suddenly hear Watsup yell "Who the fuck shaves designs out of their ass hair?!" We only lack for a donkey, a court jester, and a pregnant blacksmith chasing after a stray dog with a military pick, and we would have a perfect recreation of that one night in…nevermind.

Eying me with a vile, smug grin, Biu proclaims "Keep him warm for us, Sadiq. We will be require some time to finish with the biker." As he closes the door, Sadiq strides a step forward and says "Oh I will do more than keep you warm, I promise you that." Yes, most likely dying. Such a strenuous activity, I'd imagine.

He has the idiocy to kneel to my level, that ridiculous spear in his hands. Sadiq glares into my eyes and promises "Once I have this spear through your spine, I will take your arms and legs and your legs and arms and I wouldn't even attempt to match them back correctly when I…" Loud music blasts from inside Biu's and Watsup's rape cellar. Sadiq looks to the door as I snap the rope bindings around my wrist. I quickly rub my fingers together, materializing a few choice seeds. As Sadiq turns to face me again, I silently pepper his naked torso with the seeds. He says "Now where was I…" Sadiq notices my freed hands.

I smirk, remove that inferno ball gag, and whisper "And now, you are already dead." With a snap of my right finger, the death plants spawn from his chest, shredding his internal organs to fine pellets. Blood streaks out of Sadiq's mouth as his face glares in confusion at the garden feeding on his flesh and muscle. He drops the spear and falls backwards, thudding against the wooden floor. And now, a gift for the rest.

I whisper 'Agron tentagram bicheon sabbat adonai'. A single Ojigi sprouts from the garden. I use my Ki to stunt the Ojigi's growth until it spans the size of a small horse. Should be enough for the purpose, without wiping out an entire city block. Oh the surprise these cretins will find once they return from their…'fun'.

I hear muffled screams and phrases in I assume Cantonese, Thai, and Kiwi-accented English. And today's soundtrack for that lovely spectacle is "I Wear My Sunglasses at Night" by Corey Hart. Just in case I began to consider that this island isn't a live action reiteration of that hilarious 'Vice City' computer game that Yusuke loves to indulge in. I spot my pink rucksack by the doorway and I grab it, putting it on. Inspecting inside, yes, our passports remain. I hurriedly approach the door opposite from the one Biu entered through. More of Morgan's grunting and that new wave 80s pop song as I step through the doorway.

Alas, I was expecting a pawn shop. Instead, it seems I have stumbled into 'Big Chief Watsup's Second Hand Guns'. A used-gun dealer, for those deep discount self-defense needs. "When's the last time this man showered?!" I hear Biu yell in the distance.

Sigh.

I approach the front entrance, put my right hand against the lock, and slightly push, slowly tearing the door off the hinges. I push the door open and let the setting sunlight glaze against my flesh…and I suddenly find myself stepping back inside the store. I step behind the counter. Let us see here. "Fhin sthp! Phls!" "Biu, get the fucking pliers!" A Glock 17…hm, what is this?  _"I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can…so I can…"_  I set aside the Glock and lift up a…Walther PPK. Just like in the James Bond films that I have come to enjoy as of late. "Shut this fucker up, it's killing the mood!" Hm…fascinating…a Desert Eagle. I put the Walther down and lift the tinted chrome pistol, weighing it in my right hand. It's rather heavy. I pull the slide back, as I saw on the television. It's even loaded, Watsup is a bigger fool then I thought. Yes this will do, this will…

" _Don't switch the blade with the guy in shades, oh no!"_  It glints in my green human eyes. I lift it off the wall stand, pushing the cylinder aside. Fully loaded, six shots. I push it back in and read the long side of the barrel. 'Smith & Wesson Model 29'.  _"You got it made with the guy in shades, oh no!"_  "STOP! FUCKING! STRUGGLING!" A black, felt cowboy hat rests idly by the counter. I take it and put it on. I see a leather holster that can be worn around the waist. I put it on, tightening the leather belt until it locks in place, seems the prior owner was rather large. Or Watsup. I place the revolver in the holster. "WHY CAN"T YOU JUST FUCKING STAY QUIET?!"

" _I cry to you! I wear my sunglasses at night, I wear my sunglasses at night…"_  I approach the door and step outside, proceeding toward the park that I earlier spoke of.

It is ten minutes past nine and Yusuke just now appears in view, walking through the north side entrance of the park. Resting my back against the exterior wall of the men's room, I unzip the pink rucksack and stare at that our passports inside. The delinquent spirit detective and occasional methamphetamine salesman and blackmailer of friends nods at my direction and approaches, appearing as he was earlier, when we parted ways. His duffle bag is still in his possession. At least we may buy our way home. Hopefully. Possibly.

As Yusuke comes within earshot, I growl "You are late. Pray tell you found us a way home." Yusuke smiles and says "Nah but I snagged some nice Buddha bud and a silver elephant. Check it out." He unzips his duffle bag and casually displays a silver mold of a roaring elephant the size of a baseball, and around a kilogram of marijuana.

I will cause you injury. I say "So I take it that we have no means of returning home." Yusuke grows sullen and replies "I...uh…thought you were taking care of that."

I turn around and turn the corner around the men's room. Another turn, and I step inside, Yusuke following suit.

Sadly, it is in the same condition as it was two hours ago. With blood, shit, and urine smeared on the walls, and syringes and used condoms littering the stalls, toilet bowls, urinals, and sinks. The stench is choking. Clearly, men were here.

"And I thought the air in Demon World was fucked…" Yusuke quips. He turns his attention to me and asks "So…uh…about that…"

"About that? You wish to learn about…that? I will gladly explain this 'that' to you!" I yell, my anger surfacing. I expected better from you Yusuke. Much, much better. I begin "I had a perfectly pleasant conversation with a contractor, and even negotiated a deal with this very same individual, a learned and quite amiable character out of place in this wretched cesspit! So out of place, that this same city sought to correct that, BY SENDING AN ADDICT TO STAB HIM IN THE NECK FOR NO REASON EXCEPT TO COURT ME! And court me this Indian methamphetamine addict attempted, with promises of long walks, and chemistry play dates, and HER FLESHY SHAFT PENETRATING MY GULLET!" Yusuke takes a step back. Let us see where he goes, where the exit is cut off by a furious Kitsune, and the walls are smeared in hepatitis!

I continue "And so I pried myself from this foul creature, only to find myself subdued with a stun gun and propped on board a helicopter with A NOOSE AROUND MY NECK! And my gracious hosts? Oh, you know, 10% of Italy's gross domestic product. That 10%. Naturally I disposed of the cretins with ease, and in the process, turned their leader into a born-again Christian." "What…?" Yusuke mutters, dumbfounded, shocked, stunned, I am too angry to speculate. He simply does not speak, which is FINE BY ME!

I yell "And just when I naively thought I reached a reprieve, I was chased by a Maori biker with a medal for championship necrophilia into the loving embrace of a rapist police officer and a rapist Triad who TIED BOTH ME AND THE BIKER TO WOODEN CHAIRS AND FLIPPED A COIN TO SEE WHO WILL GET TO RAPE US FIRST! And when the Maori 'won' the coin toss, I was left to greet their own personal gimp, whom we have known informally as Sadiq Al-does not matter. My plants will eat well, suffice to say." Calming down, satisfied with my outburst, I say "At least I found this revolver. Might be enough to deter further hostiles and their apparent lust for our orifices."

I look up and realize that I backed Yusuke within an inch of the wall. I take a few steps backwards before he contracts every sexually transmitted disease at the same time. Yusuke quickly takes a few steps forward and frowns. He says "Hey man…sorry." "What's done is done," I say. Yusuke nods and says "And hey, never know, maybe the city offers a few reach-arounds for us tourists, haha!" I suddenly realize that he is slightly high.

I sigh and say "Perhaps we should contact Botan." "Fuck that, I'm still holding on to hope that Koenma won't notice a few ghosts showing up to Spirit World complaining of getting eaten by some fox plants," Yusuke replies, shaking his head to emphasis. "Then what do you suggest?" I ask.

Yusuke rubs his chin and replies "I got a lead, sketchy but it got some teeth. I met this American named Leroy who pointed me to this strip club, run by this other American named Rowan Pigeon. Says he's a good guy for a tourist here to find and get stuff done. I got the address."

I sigh heavily and say "Fine, perhaps we will find this reach-around you speak of." Oh does Yusuke proceed to laugh, to my annoyance. You will have yours when we return to Japan. I do not even care if Hiei and Kuwabara learn of my drunken escapades and dabbles into cocaine and mescaline, I will gladly give them every savory detail.

As we exit the men's room, Yusuke says "So, that's probably the third most pissed off I ever seen you." "Congratulations," I sarcastically reply. He turns to me and nudges at the duffle bag. "So…spliff? Or that's not hard enough for you?" he asks. I growl and ask "Are you intentionally trying to anger me? Everything I suffered through here has ultimately been your doing." I stop and turn around, facing him. I warn "One chance. If all fails, I will wrestle that Spirit World watch out of your possession and personally regale every detail to Koenma. I'm sure that would make for a pleasant bedtime story." I add a wry smile at the end, as Yusuke stares to the ground. Do not corner a fox, my dear friend.

As we approach the exit of the park, Yusuke asks "So, gotta ask. What the fuck?" Well put Yusuke. "Where should I begin in detail?" I reply. He starts chuckling to himself and then adds "Let's start with the meth head and work our way until we get to Pulp Fiction."

We enter the 'GoofFest' strip club, and the stench of strawberry lubricant, cigarette smoke, and erectile dysfunction immediately assault my nasal orifices. Rows of dances rub themselves against the crotches of a rogue's gallery of Western divorcees on midlife crises and barely adult men adorned in every type of body piercing and tattoo, so long as the metal is department store brass and the color is vomit green. A 80s sounding pop song sung in Thai flanks my ears. I find myself preferring the men's room. At least no one attempts to pass it off as anything but a magnet for flies.

A pair of Filipina dancers pass by us and cover their mouths as they snicker. Why on earth did I collect this revolver and cowboy hat? I should reduce my internet consumption when I return. At least there is a lesson learned from this. That, and never taking Yusuke's threats seriously.

Yusuke suddenly points toward a bar and asks "What's the over-under that the drinks aren't spiked with Enzyte?" I ignore that question and approach the barkeep. Despite Yusuke's jabs over my drinking habits, I keep nearly all of my drinking to the confines of my apartment. I haven't spoken to a barkeep for information since my days as Kurama the Bandit King. Nevertheless, I lean against the counter and speak "I wish to speak to Rowan."

The Thai bartender lifts his weary eyes at my direction, and suddenly erupts into laughter. After an infuriating minute of chuckling and random hand gestures, the bartender asks in Thai-accented English "Why?" I reveal shades of my annoyance, stare upward at the flash lights gleaming against the ceiling, and casually say "Because that would be the one thing I desire more, then squeezing your neck until your eyeballs slide out. Shall I settle for the latter?" Yusuke whistles and says "Woah, fox boy with that Yakuza talk." I growl. If I have to draw from the persona of Yoko Kurama for a spell or too, if it would mean escape from this city, so be it.

"One second," the barkeep replies, as I press my right hand on the grip of my new revolver. I turn to Yusuke, who glares at the revolver in confusion. I speak in Japanese "When in Sodom, do as the Sodomites do." I turn back to the bar and anticipate. Either this Rowan individual arrives or I keep adding corpses to the pile until Yusuke relents, and Botan arrives to drag us to civilization. While we still have pants and what remains of our self-respect.

I hear a whistle and I continue to watch a door leading from behind the bar. Suddenly, a dark-skinned male of African descent appears, sporting a large afro, a wiry black goatee and moustache with the middle of the moustache shaved off, and an oddly shaped head reminiscent of a light bulb. He is wearing, inexplicably, purple star-shaped sunglasses in a dimly lit 'gentleman's' club. He is wearing a leisure shirt that is bizarrely yellow all around except around the row of buttons running the length of the shirt, which is salmon colored. His pants follow a similar pattern, and his left ear sports a gold earring. He has several gold rings on his fingers, at least two with precious gems. He is either very brave, very foolish, or very well protected.

"Now what could Rowan Pigeon do to help out a couple of brothers such as yourselves?" The man speaks in an accent reminiscent of that Alabaster Jones character from that American 'King of the Hill' cartoon. He is dressed worse than me, and he willingly did so. This should be eventful.

I stare the man down and speak "We have a business proposition. We will pay you handsomely." "Handsome as a motherfucker, that's my bottom line. Alright boys, come with me. And…leave the heater with old Winai here. He'll have that six shooter shining like the Pope-mobile." Argh, fine. I slowly relinquish my revolver and walk around a gap between the bar and the wall. Yusuke follows, as I follow this Rowan character. We approach a staircase and move upwards, the top of the staircase revealing doorways on the left and right. A scantily-clad Southeast Asian dancer descends the steps. Rowan turns to her and says "Why don't you be a dear and bring these two lovely gentlemen a Mai Tai? Chop chop." He gives her a slap on the buttocks as she hides her cringing.

Reaching the top of the stairs, we turn left to a 'VIP' lounge, dubbed so by the neon sign on the wall that says 'VIP lounge'. I glance at the opposite doorway and see the dancers' changing and makeup room. I do not sense any threats aside from hepatitis and a dozen fire safety code violation.

The two of us sit down on a soft red leather sofa. I scan the room…nude photographs dot the walls. On the far left, a desk with small clusters of files and papers, a few VHS tapes. There are posters of various American films from the 50s, and I believe I recognize one poster as Muhammed Ali. Rowan seats himself on a massage chair and splays his fingers, opening his legs to the delight of no one. He yawns and asks "So, handsome job for a handsome motherfucker, what you got for me?"

Yusuke interrupts before I could speak "You get us out of this place, we pay you some lunch money. Deal?" Rowan laughs and says "Ain't no brother gonna call lunch money handsome now, you dig? Sheet." I rephrase "By lunch money, my friend here is referring to $15,000, American." Rowan leans forward and says "Now you two must be some high roller nine-finger brothers to be calling 15 gees 'lunch money'. All up in that caviar and what not. Now why should a pimp such as myself put my neck on the line for you? What trouble you two cats got yourself into?"

I growl in annoyance and say "Plenty, and each threat has been dealt with in turn." Nodding to myself in approval, I add "The Gulf of Thailand seems to attract quite many sharks, and we find ourselves bleeding. I believe that is self-explanatory." "Sheet, you don't have to tell me twice. Say what, I got a couple of them Vietnamese types working the shipping over in Pattaya. I get you two in a shipping container…with food and booze and what not, and you slip your friendly neighborhood pimp some of that lunch lady special you been offering. You dig?" I turn to Yusuke, who pouts at the prospect of being hauled as cargo. He speaks in Japanese "Better then explaining shit to Botan, I guess." I nod in agreement and turn to Rowan, saying "Agreed. $7,500 up front. And the rest once we arrive in Japan."

Rowan waves his hands up and says "Hold on. The rest? Japan?! I ain't shipping no goddamn booze to Japan, you know what I'm saying? $15,000, up front, and I'll get you two to Hong Kong. After that, you're on your own."

Must I play this game again? "$7,500 up front. $7,500 via money order when we arrive in Hong Kong. After that, our association ends." Rowan creases his eyebrows, and then says "Alright dog, works with me. But you better play straight cause I ain't no pimp to be trifled with, you know what I am saying?" Suddenly, the voice of Hank Hill echoes in my head, and I find myself thinking 'And I am the mack daddy, of Shibuya Ward!'

I turn to Yusuke, who nods in agreement. I turn back to Rowan and say "Then it is settled. What is your strategy in carrying us to Pattaya?" Rowan smirks and says "Got a few crates that need some return to sender, you dig? No one expects an inside job. One of my trucks will haul you two cats like it's some special forces shit." Somehow, I doubt it would be so dramatic, but unless another random lunatic waltzes in and forces a knife into Rowan's throat, I am quite pleased with this arrangement. Rowan suddenly snaps his fingers and says "Yo Mango, where the fuck are those Mai Tais?"

The Southeast Asian dancer enters the lounge half a minute later, with a tray and three cocktail glasses of what I assume is Mai Tai and possibly other chemicals, likely more potent then 'Enzyte'. She hands one to Yusuke, one to myself, and then one to Rowan. I sniff the concoction and eye it suspiciously. Rowan notices my apprehension and says "I make love, brother, not war. Only thing we got in that is rum, curaçao, a little lime juice, and the GoofFest special: codeine. You allergic?"

Makai poisons are likely the one contraband not found in Roanapur's black market. I drink greedily, for I am quite thirsty. Yusuke drinks as well, as Rowan says "What I say? Rowan gives his clients the Midas touch. Say, Mango, give these two bachelors a little dance for me, sugar."

!

I stamper and say "Apologies I err…" Yusuke mercifully speaks for me "Look Rowan, thanks, but hey, we're taken men. You dig?" I let out a slight laugh at that little jab by Yusuke. Rowan leans forward, raises an eyebrow, and suddenly puts his right hand on his forehead, an understanding look on his face. He says "Oh I get it now." "What's not to get?" Yusuke asks. Rowan nods and says "I forgot you Japanese types are the forward thinking kind. Hey, I don't judge, find love where you find it, you know what I'm saying?" Grr.

Yusuke does not even attempt to waste his breath. Very well, I won't say anything. We'll be gone from this city within a day regardless.

Our near empty glasses of Mai Tai in our hands, Yusuke and myself meander inside the 'VIP' lounge. Rowan has disappeared downstairs, supposedly to contact someone to package us into crates and smuggle us onto a boat in Pattaya. What Yusuke termed as an American 'R&B' song obnoxiously plays through this fine establishment.  _"Up in da club! Can a playa spend his double life? Up in da club! Before she shanks me with a butter knife. Up in da club!"_

Yusuke yawns, his duffle bag on his back. He points at a plastic card on the desk and laughs. I look over. An American driver's license, displaying Rowan Pigeon with short hair and a chin strap beard, aged at least fifteen years younger. An Idaho license. I silently read the name on the license.

"Eustace Wyatt…Weinerhold. Weinerhold …" Yusuke speaks, his laughter growing.  _"If you're looking for a man with a bulge in his pants, who really ain't trippin about a one night stand…"_ He turns to stare at me and suddenly erupts into hysterical laughter. I cannot help but laugh with him. I say "Perhaps his contact is an old, Italian friend of his. Biggus Dickus." Yusuke struggles to breathe as I laugh earnestly. Never combined codeine and spirits before. Now I understand why it isn't recommended.

Yusuke points with his glass holding hand at a smattering of photographs. He sets them upright as I mutter "Yusuke, those are his personal…" Why on earth is this man collecting photographs of him performing oral sex on random women? "And they call him the Weinerhold …" Yusuke mutters, returning to his laughter. He turns to me and shakes his head in amusement.

I ask Yusuke "So, my forward thinking Japanese compatriot, how exactly did you come across this Leroy individual?" "When I was shopping for the elephant. He bumped into me and got into my face. At one point, I let it slip that I'm trying to get out of the city, and he's in the way. He then got less assholish and started asking questions. I didn't tell him any real details, just that I wanted to get out with a friend and that I couldn't take the roads. He pointed me to this place, said Rowan is a fixer. Well, as long as the Weinerhold doesn't fix us up for something out of left field, I'm good." "At the very least, we can rule out the possibility of a Vaseline smeared spear," I add, shuddering at the memory of Sadiq. Yusuke laughs and says "Very, very true there, fox boy."  _"In my car or on my dubs? A straight fuckin' while we buckin', baby."_

"Hey y'all, your express limo is inbound…now what kind of jive-ass cat pokes around a brother's personal effects?!" Rowan exclaims in embarrassment.  _"Up in da club!"_ He quickly shuts the door as Yusuke blurts out "Hey it's the Weinerhold. When you see Biggus Dickus, tell him I said hi." Rowan stomps his feet toward desk and growls "Now that ain't cool, you dig? I taken ten years of my life cultivating my executive brand." Yusuke laughs and says "No offense but you're a strip club boss dressed like a Scooby Do villain and living in the ass-end of the world. Your brand is like a locked porta john, nobody gives a crap."

Rowan turns to Yusuke and snarls "Easy for you to say. Out here, image is the only shit that matters, and what kind of a playa pimp comes from Idaho? And what kind of an executive high roller cat walks around with a name like 'Eustace Wyatt Weinerhold'? Man, even those old time pimps from back when grandma was churning butter and people took craps in holes, that stone age shit, even those old time pimps didn't have no names like Weinerhold neither. And what kind of a wheeling, dealing cat goes around eating the sushi, you know what I'm saying?"

No, I have absolutely no idea what you are saying. Yusuke takes a step back and mutters "Okay…" Rowan continues "And I mean yeah I know, what kind of a pimp listens to Bing Crosby and is down with bestiality shit. Might as well be eating deviled eggs and molesting little kids." Yes, I believe I have heard enough as well. Mercifully, I hear a car honking, which apparently caught Rowan's attention. He approaches a window, with Yusuke and myself following. We look down and spot a red sedan. A Chinese woman with mauve hair and black tattoos on her left arm, dressed in a black tank top, sits at the wheel. An East Asian man dressed in a black and white striped leisure shirt and black dress pants sits in the front passenger seat. Rowan gives Yusuke a pat on the shoulders and says "That's them. They'll be getting you through the front lines. Gimme a sec."

As he walks out of the room, Yusuke mutters "Son of a…that's the bitch that pistol whipped me last night! In alley, when I was tripping on whatever that Eda bitch gave me. They're supposed to transport us? Screw it, I'm giving her payback for last night." "After we arrive at our destination," I request of Yusuke. "Yeah, sure. Fine. As long as she doesn't give me a reason," Yusuke grumbles. And yawns. And I do so as well.

I suddenly find myself uncomfortable. "Yusuke," I ask "when this Leroy character…interacted with you, did you tell him that we were hunted by a Russian criminal?" "No, why?" he asks. My gaze not leaving the window, I say "Because a certain damaged Lexus sedan is currently parked across the street."

I overhear Rowan yell "I don't what's taking them so long. No sucka that skinny lasts that long." A woman speaks in a NYC accent "Did your shit-for-brains barkeep confuse the horse tranqs for those dick pills again?" "No, I had them labelled this time, you dig?" Rowan asks. "You'll be digging your grave for Balalaika if this shit goes sideways," the woman's voice replies. I find my vision blurring. Yusuke mutters "Kurama, I ain't feeling so good." "Is your heart beating fast?" I ask, anxious. "It doesn't beat, fox boy. Shit…I feel tired…" he replies, yawning. Not a lethal poison. Sedatives.

Damn this.

Rowan, the Chinese woman, and the East Asian man who appears to be a fellow Japanese, the three stare as Yusuke rests on his stomach, subdued. They turn to me, and the two new characters proceed to laugh at my appearance. I grit my teeth, barely standing, my left hand supporting me against the wall. I have mere seconds of consciousness left. "Revy, you might want to take a step back," the Japanese man says. "Fuck that, Rock. If this faggot wants a piece of me, I'll send him to Boris in the express mail. Not like he's going to give a fuck," this Revy individual replies. I will give you hell. I will give you all hell!

I toss my glass of Mai Tai at Revy. She steps back and to the right, dodging the toss, muttering "Wrong move, asshole." Oh I could say the same for you.

Revy and Rock are too far from my reach. I find my knees buckling. I have one chance. Rowan. Rowan will do. You will suffer for this.

I step forward with all my might, and I wind my right arm until it is perfectly outstretched. And with as much force as my body permits, I drive my opened right hand right to left, slapping Rowan with such strength, that at least four of his golden teeth bounce against the wooden floor. And as I lose my balance, and as I am pulled into a subdued sleep, I yell "His name is Eustace Wyatt Weinerhold! And he hails from Idaho!"

* * *

 **AN:**  Writing this chapter has changed me in a very deep and profound way, from this day forward.


End file.
